Starfleet Academy Blues
by CityDurl
Summary: Four years after her escape from Turkana IV, Tasha's dreams come true: she joins Starfleet. But the reality turns out to be more like a nightmare until hope arrives in the form of Starfleet's first Klingon cadet.
1. Chapter 1

The morning sun was sending weak shafts of light through the clouds and mist that swirled over San Francisco bay. It was late summer, but the breeze felt as cool as it would in early spring anywhere else on the northern continent. Tasha adjusted the strap of her hard-sided duffel bag and looked down at the palm PADD in her hand, then back up at the beautiful landscape. The verdant expanse of the Starfleet Academy grounds was crisscrossed with dusty yellow paths and generously dotted with perfectly manicured topiaries and flowerbeds. It was still a long walk to the freshman dorm, but she didn't mind it at all – the hike was giving her that much more time to absorb the reality of her dream-come-true. Tasha inhaled a deep lungful of salty bay air. She was sure that her chest was going to burst from pride and excitement.

_About another kilometer on the map_, thought Tasha. She continued walking past cadets clad identical to her – black uniform belted at the waist with a broad red band across shoulders and upper chest. The ones whose collars were bare of bars wore expressions much like her own: at once nervous, excited, overwhelmed, and delighted.

Another fifteen minutes of walking, with a brief detour to explore a wooden footbridge over a pond filled with floating lilies and flashing bodies of swimming carp, and Tasha found herself in the wide foyer of the freshman dorm. She joined the line of slim young cadets that jostled their bags and eyed each other nervously. Tasha recognized no one – there were no familiar faces from the prep school, nor was there anyone from her summer assignment on Mars. Tasha stood a head taller than most of the girls in line, and there were few boys who were taller than she; her vantage point allowed her to flit her eyes from face to face without craning her neck or standing on the balls of her feet, as some of the other fidgety cadets were doing. They all looked as scrubbed and shiny as new boots. Her eyes met the glance of a tall, brown-eyed boy, who sized her up with a smile and a classic eyebrows-raised-twice gesture. Tasha looked away, smiling despite her embarrassment, and puffed out a little audible breath – there were some cute guys here. It would be the first time that she would live in a coed environment among civilized humans, and she wondered how on earth she was going to handle it.

Tasha's turn at the reception table finally came. The gray-haired Resident Director stood behind the center of a semi-circular podium height desk, and was flanked by five harried student Resident Assistants, who popped up and down between boxes on the floor and piles on the table like a neighborhood of prairie dogs.

"Last name?" the RD asked, looking up at the blue-eyed blond with a smile.

"Yar." Tasha let her bag dangle from her fingers.

"Got it," piped up one of the prairie dog RAs, tossing a PADD and a communicator onto the table. Another RA flopped a shrink-wrapped bundle of clothes beside them, while a third slapped a small, hinged box on top.

"Your PADD is pre-loaded with syllabi and reading materials for your classes, as well as your schedule of required events. Touch your communicator to activate the dermal sensor, and wear it at all times." The RD looked into Tasha's eyes and spoke warmly to her, as if it were the first, not the fiftieth, time that she was saying the words that morning. "You have been assigned to room 14-C." The RD handed over a small key fob. "There's a layout of the dorm on your PADD if you get lost, and you may activate voice prompts if you need help with directions."

Tasha reverently picked up the little box from atop the heap of clothes and cradled it in her hand, her mouth slightly agape.

"It's traditional to wait until Convocation to apply your first-year bar, cadet. Think you can stand the suspense 'till then?" The RD teased her.

"Yes, sir," replied Tasha. She curled her fingers around the box and looked around. "Is that all?"

"That's all, Mr. Yar. Head on up to your room."

Tasha slung her bag over her shoulder, pressed her communicator to her chest, and gathered her new things in her arms. She walked, careful not to drop the box clutched tightly in her hand, to the elevator doors where several similarly encumbered students waited for the cars to arrive.

Tasha found her room with ease – the building was a simple rectangular layout, with suites of rooms on the outside perimeter and large shared spaces in the center of each floor. Tasha reached 14-C, and adjusted her bundle to free her left hand. She was about to apply the key fob to the lock when a faint sound stopped her – someone was already inside. Tasha knocked on the door. It opened to reveal an olive-skinned girl who came up to Tasha's chin. She had almond-shaped brown eyes, black lashes as thick as a doll's, and lustrous black hair that fell below her shoulders. Tasha had never seen such a beautiful face.

"I think we're roommates. May I come in?" Tasha tried without success to free her right hand, fumbling to extend her arm in greeting.

"Of course! Maybe we're suitemates. There're four beds in here." The cadet opened the door all the way and stood aside to let Tasha pass. The blond gave the room a quick once over, then dropped her things on the bed against the interior wall, closest to the door. Tasha stuck out her hand.

"Natasha Yar."

"Tillotama Sajnani. Call me Saj."

"Good to meet you." They shook hands, both with firm, emphatic grips.

"I'm from the subcontinent. Where are you from?" asked Saj.

_Oh, boy. Is that really how people lead off everywhere?_ Tasha asked herself. Aloud, she stammered, "I'm from…ah…well…from…"

"You do remember, right? We haven't even been here a whole day." Saj's eyes looked even more beautiful when they were twinkling with humor.

"I'm from a little colony you've probably never heard of," Tasha wound up lamely.

Saj shrugged. Tasha tried to recover. "Have you been here long?"

"Since 0700 on the dot, when registration first opened," replied Saj. "My folks are very big on promptness. Never mind that they woke me up at 5 in the morning to get me here." She shook her head. "The Academy has nothing on discipline compared to those two. I think it's gonna be a vacation in comparison."

Tasha nodded uncertainly. Complaining about parents – another minefield.

"Do you think you'll have to cut your hair? It's so long and pretty," remarked Tasha.

"No, I can wear it up – I already asked. My family would kill me if I cut it short."

Tasha had recently buzzed hers to almost nothing but a fringe around the top and front of her head, and she self-consciously rubbed the fuzz on the back of her scalp. "That's good."

"Do you want to check out the rest of this room? There's not much of it, but there is more to see." Saj motioned towards the interior of the suite with her chin.

"Sure." They walked over the linoleum floor through an arch to the adjoining spaces. The living area was furnished by two armchairs and two loveseats, a low table, and a replicator on the inside wall. A door connected to the bathroom, and then a second door to another two-person bedroom, with a door that led to the hallway.

"We share with 14-D," noted Saj.

"It's pretty luxurious."

"Are you being sarcastic?" Saj raised incredulous eyes to Tasha's face.

Tasha shrugged. Yes? No? What was the right thing to say?

The outer door of 14-D opened, and the two cadets were joined by a third, who unceremoniously dropped her bags and bundles on the floor and walked over to meet them.

"Hi, I'm Patricia Flores." She extended a hand to her suitemates in turn, who introduced themselves as well. "What's shaking?" Flores was stocky without being overweight, with an almost perfectly round face, a brown blunt-cut bob, and more freckles on her cheeks and hands than Tasha had ever seen in one place. "Am I the last one here?"

"No, there should be one more," Saj replied.

"Jeez, you're pretty. I won't have any trouble getting dates if I hang around with you. I'd take your sloppy seconds any day." Flores strode through the room, exploring what little there was to see of the standard issue desks and beds.

"You're from North America, right?" asked Saj.

"Yup. Mid-Atlantic region. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"So, have you cadets picked out majors yet?" Flores asked.

"Pre-med. And my parents picked it out for me; I had no choice in the matter," replied Saj.

"Weapons and Tactical," answered Tasha.

Flores whistled. "You break 'em, she fixes 'em?"

"I guess so."

"Well, you must be a lady with a past." Tasha grimaced at her suitemate's assertion. "There's a saying at the Academy," Flores continued. "Some cadets join up to be engineers, so they can fly big ships. Scientists join Starfleet so they have half a chance at getting laid. Some want to be doctors so they can help people," her fingers formed imaginary quotes in the air, "and some cadets major in command ops so they can boss people around. But cadets who sign up for security," Flores stalked up to Tasha, "want REVENGE!" She slapped her on the back with a laugh.

Saj sucked her teeth. "Where did you hear all that?"

"From my brother – class of '54."

"Well, he must be an engineer."

"Right, again. Hey, you're smart!"

"_That's_ why I want to be a doctor. Never mind that other crap. And your brother is deluding himself if he thinks engineers aren't scientists, with an equal unlikelihood of getting laid."

"So, where are you going to sleep?" asked Tasha. She didn't trust herself to comment on anything she'd heard so far.

"I'll take the window bed. I wonder when the last roommate will get here?"

"Can't be too much longer. Let's see what's in your pack of clothes," suggested Saj. "Maybe they forgot your underwear."

She got a chuckle from Flores and a smile from Yar.

* * *

><p>Tasha sat on her bed, examining the schedule as it scrolled by on the screen of the PADD. She was happy with her classes – heavy emphasis on kinesthetic training, plus core classes in creative writing, physics, and ships' operations. She was more curious to see what her counseling schedule would look like. At the boarding school, she'd had therapy every day and group therapy twice a week. At the prep school, her daily sessions with the counselor were sometimes cancelled because of class excursions and standard exams, but they were always on the books. Her summer assignment hadn't allowed for much more than an ad hoc schedule, and that had been tough for her to take. It was only six weeks, but she'd felt like someone taken her life preserver away, and she'd been moments from drowning. What would it be like now?<p>

She finally found it: Thursday, 1300 hours. Counselor Lver. She touched the name to reach the bio: Female. Betazoid. Great. Nothing but the best for Starfleet. But Tasha knew it was inevitable that she would encounter a telepathic psychologist – it was only a matter of time. She ran her finger down the week's schedule to make sure. That was it – once a week. She had graduated to normal-people sessions. Tasha felt like patting herself on the back.

A muffled click came from the hall door of the other bedroom, and Tasha stood up and walked through the living area and into the bathroom to see the final member of their suite – a slight, tall girl with short braids all over her head held back with a black headband. She was visibly upset. Tasha stood awkwardly on the threshold of the bathroom door and watched Saj rush forward.

"Hey, are you all right?" Long black hair hid her face from Tasha's view, but she could hear the compassion in Saj's voice.

A wordless nod. "My parents just left. I wanted to go with them. I don't know if I can do this…" the newcomer burst into tears.

The three girls immediately surrounded her, murmuring words of consolation and encouragement.

"It's normal to be homesick. You're going to be all right." Flores put a hand on the girl's narrow, shaking shoulder. "I'm Tricia. What's your name?"

"Ishanti Maynor. I'm sixteen. I've never been away from home before." Her answers were punctuated by gulps and sobs.

"Well, buck up, camper! You're about to start the adventure of your life," exclaimed Flores.

This produced a fresh storm of weeping. Flores looked at the other two cadets. "What'd I say?"

Saj rolled her eyes and put her arms around Maynor's trembling body. She leaned in close to her ear, and started consoling her in a low voice, stroking her back with one hand. Whatever she was saying was evidently working, as the tears began to slow and the sobbing gave way to shuddering breaths. At a significant look from Saj, Flores and Yar backed out of the room.

They sat down on the loveseats in the living room. "That's gotta be tough, man – leaving your folks for the first time at that tender young age. My heart goes out to her." Flores shook her head, her brown hair brushing her round, freckled cheeks.

The corners of Tasha's mouth turned down. She found herself completely at a loss for words.


	2. Chapter 2

Night had fallen by the time the four cadets returned to their suite. They all sat down in the living room and pulled off their boots.

"Well, that was . . . awkward," Maynor declared.

"All those get-to-know-you games. I think the RAs make them up for their own perverse amusement," Saj said, rubbing one black-stockinged foot.

"I don't know why it's called a mixer, anyway. The only mixed-up thing about it is that they expect you to have a decent conversation with 300 perfect strangers all screaming at the top of their lungs in one room." Flores loosened her belt and unfastened the top of her uniform.

"It was strange," agreed Yar. "My cheeks hurt from too much polite smiling."

The cadets continued to deconstruct their day, chatting and laughing as the evening deepened. Finally, Tasha stood. "I'm going to sack out. I've got an Anatomy and Conditioning pre-session at 0600 hours. May as well try to sleep." She stretched and walked into the bathroom.

"Anatomy? I don't have that class until third year," replied Saj. "What gives?"

"It's not that kind of anatomy. This is the kind that tells you where to hit people." Tasha stuck her toothbrush into her mouth.

The other three continued to talk in that manner peculiar to new students – heavy on divulging but light on listening, talking over each other with equal hesitation and eagerness. Flores got up after a time and ordered a hot chocolate from the replicator. She saw light streaming from beyond the bathroom, illuminating a broad splotch under the door. Flores walked through, past the arch and into her suitemate's bedroom. She was startled by what she saw.

All of the lights in the room were blazing at maximum, but the place looked empty. Yar's bed was stripped bare to the mattress, with the blankets, pillows, and sheets heaped in a pile at the foot of the frame. The lump they formed was large enough to contain a person, but that person would have to be curled up in a fetal ball underneath, like an animal in a nest. Could Yar be under there? Could she even breathe under there if she was?

A slight, almost indiscernible rise and fall in one corner told Flores that she must. Flores snapped out the lights, and backed out of the room.

"Well, I'll be damned."

* * *

><p>Tasha had been awake for hours by the time morning roll was called. She felt exhilarated by her pre-class session, outside on the lawn in the early dawn with 29 other cadets, stretching and moving through the damp grass, the prof naming each muscle group as they mirrored his postures. The class required concurrent enrollment with Basic Hand-to-Hand Combat, and though classes wouldn't officially begin until the next day, Tasha already knew that they would be her favorites.<p>

She'd made up her rack as neat as a pin after she'd awoken, sweaty and disoriented, buried under every stitch of her bedclothes. She'd thought that she'd outgrown that little survival technique – traveling on the USS Galahad away from Turkana IV, one was as likely to find her sleeping under a pile of clothes in a corner of her quarters as under the blankets of her bed. It was a protective reflex – the stress of moving to a new place must have affected her more deeply than she'd realized, on a subconscious level. She made a mental note to schedule some time for meditation later on, and hoped that none of her suitemates had thought twice about her odd behavior.

The sun was climbing to full morning as the cadets lined up on the parade grounds. Tasha was glad that they had marched out by floor, rather than lining up by height or last name – no matter how you sliced it those other ways, she always ended up in the back. The topmost floor of the dorm had lined up first, so that put her and her bunkmates right up front.

A few strong rays of sunshine warmed the cool bay air and the upturned faces of the marching cadets. Guts were sucked in and chests were puffed out as the cadets tried to match the grandeur of the brass band that accompanied them. Tasha felt like she was in a fairy tale, or the best dream that she had ever dreamed. She pulled her shoulders back and stuck her chin out high.

The students processed into the large auditorium, marching down the aisles and standing before row after row of plush theater seats. They stood at ease, watching respectfully as the faculty marched in behind them, gold braid gleaming on their dress uniforms. All turned their attention to the stage, where greetings and introductions finally gave way to the keynote speaker, Academy Superintendent Tuvar. There was a loud rustle as hundreds of people took their seats.

The imposing figure of the Vulcan superintendent, impeccably clad in arrow-straight dress reds, stood rooted like a pillar behind the podium on the stage. He regarded the silent room with a bleak, sweeping gaze.

"Cadets, you sit before me as the class of '60. Ostensibly so – though 300 of you are gathered here today, the finest, brightest, most promising young humanoids from 50 planets in the galaxy, not all of you will join us when we process into this hall four years hence, to celebrate Commencement."

Tasha blinked rapidly. _Whoa, some opener_, she thought. She flicked her eyes right and left without moving her head, trying to gauge the reactions of the cadets seated around her.

"The path that you have chosen is a difficult one, the crossing of it, treacherous. Some of you will see it to the end. Some of you will fall."

She resisted the urge to tug on her collar, which all of a sudden felt extremely tight on her throat.

"Those of you who will see that path to the end will join the ranks of the thousands of beings who have made Starfleet a paragon of knowledge, a model of acceptance, and a pioneer of exploration.

"Some of you who will join those ranks may find that death awaits you, perhaps quickly, and far too soon."

Tasha couldn't control a tiny movement of her head as she scanned to the right and left. In her peripheral vision, she saw faces as incredulous and eyes as wide as her own.

"The challenges that will arise to face you in the next four years and beyond may be calamitous. They may break your spirit, and make you question your moral founding, the very fiber of your soul.

"Your ally in overcoming the challenges ahead may not be your strength, or your intelligence, or your ability, or your compassion. Your courage may leave you in the presence of fear. Your conscience may desert you, when you ponder a conundrum with no benevolent outcome. When your hope is gone, and life hangs in the balance, one element will yet remain:

"Your will.

"Your will to move forward into certain annihilation, because it is the right thing to do. Your will to uphold the Prime Directive, though the decision eats at your merciful heart. Your will to put the safety of others before your own. To open your mind to ideas with which you do not agree, to accept the strange and unknown as having equal right to be as the familiar and understood.

Your journey here begins by uncovering that will, discovering your intention, and discerning if the compunction to do what must be done resides in your person."

Tasha felt her eyes glaze over as the speech went on. She had worked so hard to achieve this moment – what if the work would only become harder, too hard, impossible? Did she have what it took to make it through? How would she know? She fervently wanted to be up to the challenge, so different from what had come before. No fight for survival, no race to catch up to her peers, but something else. A test she couldn't study for – a vast unknown. Four years would change her life forever, put her in charge of her destiny for once and for all, if only she could make it. But hadn't she always made it, so far?

Tasha was roused from her reverie by the motion and sound of the cadets rising to their feet. She stood as well, and focused in on the speaker.

"I yield the floor to the Grand Marshall for the traditional frocking ceremony," Superintendent Tuvar intoned.

Tasha followed the orders barked out by the Grand Marshall. She pulled the hinged box from her pocket and snapped it open, the single gray bar inside unassuming in its velvet housing. She placed it on the outstretched hand of the cadet on her left. She stood up tall as he fastened the bar to her collar. She stretched out her hand to reciprocate, and felt her trepidation dissolve in the happiness of the moment.

* * *

><p>The reception in the freshman mess hall was raucously loud, but Tasha was getting used to the din of hundreds of young people talking at the same time. She stood with her suitemates, close to a table laden with snacks.<p>

"Did you catch the part when he told us we were all going to die?" Flores asked, munching at an apple pastry.

"Oh no, not all of us. Some of us won't graduate, so we won't even get the chance to go out into the galaxy and die," rejoined Saj.

"I might as well go upstairs and pack my bags right now," moaned Maynor. "I swear he was looking straight at me when he was talking about cadets washing out."

"I thought Convocation was supposed to be a pep rally, like a big kick-off to the school year," said Flores. "All I feel now are butterflies in my stomach and a sense of impending doom."

"Well, I don't think there's a word in Vulcan for 'pep,'" replied Saj.

"I don't know if he was trying to inspire us or scare us," said Tasha. "The only part I got was that stuff he said about our will. I thought he meant like the will to survive. I think he's right – nothing's stronger than that. It will make you do things that you never dreamed you would do. It's pretty powerful."

Tasha's suitemates looked back at her blankly. She looked at their skeptical faces and wondered if she'd said too much.

"Let's scope out some more food. Then we can help Maynor pack," said Flores, dusting off her hands.

"Ha-ha." Maynor spun on her heel, and the four cadets dove back into the crowd.


	3. Chapter 3

Tasha sat bolt upright in bed, an audible intake of breath choked off just before it became a yell. She took deep breaths in and out through her mouth – just a dream. A nightmare. She was safe. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It must be early. She picked up her PADD and swiped a finger over it: 0402. No need to be up for at least another hour. Should she go back to sleep?

She peered in the dim light at the bed across the narrow room – empty and not slept in. Maynor had begged Saj to allow her to sleep in her bed last night. All she'd needed was a bedraggled teddy bear to complete the picture of a scared baby sister begging her big sis to drive the monsters away.

Baby sister . . .

Tasha pressed her palms into her eyes and willed the thoughts away, but they came on, relentless, unbidden. Ishara would be 14 now, if she lived, showing signs of maturity, maybe reaching her adult height, taking on the look of young womanhood that would make her a target.

"Stop it," Tasha said aloud. This was no time to wallow in useless sadness. Ishara had chosen to stay behind, a thin-limbed, immovable statue in the face of her big sister's pleas and exhortations. Of all of the regrets Tasha had of her past life, losing Ishara to the gangs was number one. Tasha had never told anyone about her. It was one more secret in a sealed-off world of them. One more set of memories to bury away.

She could see her baby sister's face as it had been that last time: blue eyes staring out, too large, prominent cheekbones starting to show through the flat cheeks, perfect cupid's bow lips set in a hard line. The blond, wispy halo that stuck out weightlessly around her head whenever her hair was clean. The face that Tasha tried to remind herself of her father's with, even as the memory of him grew fainter. Ishara's beautiful face, determined in refusal to come away with her.

Tasha decided to sleep. No point in showing up exhausted for her first day of classes. She lay her head down and was unconscious in the space of a few moments, the image of her sister fading into nothingness.

* * *

><p>"Good morning, class. I'm Professor Kwon. Welcome to Basic Hand-to-Hand Combat."<p>

Thirty cadets were seated cross-legged on mats in a large, padded workout room. Tasha had chosen the front row. She was warm and loose from Conditioning class just before, and she pressed her knees down flat with her elbows.

"We meet five days a week to reinforce the concepts you will learn in each unit. I expect you to maintain the schedule on the weekends: one hour of warm-ups at 0700, followed by an hour and a half of sparring, alone in front of a mirror or with a partner. Units last two weeks, followed by an exam on the second Friday. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" chorused the cadets.

"Good. First lesson: how to fall. I'll need two volunteers. The rest of you, pair up."

Tasha stuck up her hand. She'd spent the first six months of Aikido training learning to fall. That was almost four years ago; she considered herself an expert in that aspect. The teacher picked two other students, so she turned behind her to get a partner. A boy with black eyes and hair approached her.

"Lee," he said, extending his hand.

"Yar." She shook it. She vaguely remembered him from the freshman mixer.

She sailed through the lesson, as she expected. Lee was having more difficulty, but bristled when she tried to give him pointers. She gave up talking after a while, and concentrated on her own form.

"Change partners," ordered Prof. Kwon.

Tasha bowed to Lee and immediately felt self-conscious. She was used to the rules of the Aikido dojo. Lee gave her a disparaging look and walked away. She looked around, and was approached by a sandy-haired sophomore.

"Wanna partner, hot stuff?" he asked.

Tasha immediately felt her ire arise. "Name's Yar, grease spot."

He recoiled. "Nice attitude."

"I don't have all day, cadets!" Professor Kwon was circulating through the room. "Begin."

They both took the attack stance. Tasha held her own. "One of us is supposed to be falling, buddy," she said through gritted teeth.

"So fall," the cadet responded, his hands on her arms, feet planted, but sliding.

"You fall," Tasha retorted.

"You!"

"No, you!" She kicked his legs out from under him and twisted, throwing him over her shoulder as he yelled in protest.

"Tompkins! Yar! What's the problem here?" Prof. Kwon seemed to materialize in front of them.

Tasha scowled down at Tompkins. He got quickly to his feet. "No problem, sir," he said. "Just a difference of opinion about who was starting."

Kwon grunted. "No need to show off, Yar."

"Yes, sir." Tasha felt the eyes of the whole class on her. She wiped her hands on her thighs.

The professor nodded. "As you were, then." The class resumed practice, but Tompkins stepped to the next closest pair.

"Wanna wrestle with the hothead? I'd like to get to lunch without a blasted broken neck."

"Sure, I'll switch." A brown-haired girl took his place with Tasha. "I'm Bretan. I'm a freshie, too."

"Yar," Tasha replied, still frowning.

"Just don't hurt me, okay?" Bretan took up the defensive stance.

_Great_, Tasha thought. _A __half __hour __in, __and __I__'__m __the __class __psycho._

* * *

><p>Tasha carried her tray from the line in the freshman mess, searching for a familiar face. She was relieved to see Saj waving at her from a table across the room. She crossed through the mass of people and furniture and sat down.<p>

"How's the first day so far?" Tasha asked.

Saj rolled her eyes. "I just got out of Biology. The prof had us go around the room and introduce ourselves. He thought I said 'Sarge' when I said my name, so the whole damn class was calling me that and laughing."

"Could be worse," Tasha replied, trying not to smile. It was a pretty funny name for the strikingly beautiful girl.

"Oh my god. Don't even think about calling me that." Saj picked up a roll from her tray and knocked it against the table. "Hard as a rock. I miss my mom's cooking already."

Flores came up to the table and dropped her tray with a clatter. "What's up?" She sat down and poked Saj with an elbow. "Check it out, beauty queen. Admirer at starboard."

"Very funny." Saj put up her chin and stuck her fork in a mound of vegetables.

"You aren't even going to look? He's cute," continued Flores. "What's this supposed to be, anyway? Is it rice or pasta?" She poked at the food on her tray.

Tasha was halfway through clearing her plate. She looked over her shoulder to the left, and saw the cadet that Flores had pointed out – he was still staring in their direction. Brown hair and hazel eyes, and more than cute. Hot. She recognized him as the boy that had sized her up in line during registration. He met her eyes and winked. She turned back to her roommates.

"How's the first day, Flores?" Tasha asked.

"Bo-ring. I gotta choose a major, pronto. I had History of the Federation and Freshman Seminar today. Three hours on the Prime Directive. Shoot me now," Flores replied.

"I have Freshman Seminar on Wednesday, and Intro to Tactical Systems," Tasha said.

"See, that sounds interesting. If I just knew what track I wanted, I could start on the good classes," lamented Flores.

"Hey, guys." Maynor sat in the last chair at the table. She slumped down, putting her head on her crossed arms.

The other three exchanged looks. Saj patted Maynor's back, and sighed.

* * *

><p>The four suitemates were lounging in their living room in their pajamas. Tasha and Flores had their feet up on the low table. Saj sat upright in the second loveseat, and Maynor lay down with her head in the older girl's lap. It was late, but the summer sun was still setting, and the sky outside burned deep red and purple.<p>

"Why don't we just get you a pacifier, Maynor? Or you could suck your thumb," Flores teased.

"Stow it," Saj replied. "She misses her family. Don't you have a heart?"

"I can't help it," Maynor said, her voice trembling. "I'm used to sharing a room with my sister. We do everything together. And my mom and dad – I miss them so bad."

"You'll get over it, Ishanti. You'll see. The beginning's gotta be the hardest part," Saj said soothingly, rubbing the younger girl's arm.

Maynor nodded. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight, Saj?"

Flores snorted. "Why don't you two just make out and get it over with? I'll switch rooms and you can have some privacy."

Maynor's eyes filled with tears. Tasha took her feet down and faced Flores. "That's not funny. Don't you have any sisters? Maynor's just a kid. Why don't you go easy on her?"

Flores sat upright, too, facing Tasha. "I have three brothers. How about you, Silent-but-Deadly? You haven't said word one about your family since we got here. What's the big secret?"

Maynor and Saj sat up, too, and the tension in the room was palpable.

"It's none of your business, Flores. I just don't like what you're insinuating. Maynor can sleep with Saj if she wants," Tasha said.

"That's what I'm saying – they should just sleep together and get over it," Flores replied with a smirk.

Tasha stood. "I don't think that's funny. I asked you to stop, and I meant it."

Flores got to her feet. "Or what? You gonna throw me over your shoulder? Nothing like responding to words with violence – that's what we do in Starfleet."

Tasha clenched her fists. "Who told you?"

"Bretan's in my seminar. She heard everything firsthand. You want to be a bully in combat class, that's your problem. Don't threaten me in my room," Flores said warningly.

Tasha swallowed and relaxed her hands. "I'm not threatening you."

"Good." Flores sat back down. "Then relax, Yar. I'm just kidding around."

"Well, it's not funny," murmured Tasha. She looked at the faces of her suitemates. They were all studying her with suspicion. She turned away. "I'm going to hit the rack."

No one responded. Tasha went into her own room and shut the connecting door.


	4. Chapter 4

Tasha rounded the corridor of the science hall, feeling tension building up between her shoulder blades. She rechecked the room number on her PADD and took a deep breath. She pushed open the door.

"Astrophysics 101?" the professor asked, waiting just inside at the front of the classroom. He had black eyes surrounded by laugh lines and salt and pepper hair. Tasha nodded. "You're in the right place. I'm Prof. Ramirez. You are?"

"Cadet Yar."

"Early is good, Mr. Yar. Are you a V, A, R, or K?"

"K, sir."

"Fine. Kinesthetic modules are on the far left."

"Yes, sir." Tasha walked between two rows of desks and took an empty seat behind a flat monitor. A flashing square alternated with a drawing of a finger.

She touched the square, and a female voice prompted, "Enter your serial number," followed by the appearance of an alphanumeric screen. Tasha complied. "Welcome, Cadet Yar," the female voice said.

The classroom began to fill with students. The professor greeted each one, and directed them to the proper desks. "Visual learners, first two rows. Audio learners at the far right. Readers, back two rows. Kinesthetic, far left."

Tasha explored the interface, touching and swiping the displays. A male voice broke her concentration. "This seat taken?"

She looked up. It was the looker with the brown hair and hazel eyes. He smiled at her.

"It's the first class, and no one's sitting there. What do you think?" she replied.

He shrugged and sat down next to her. He touched the interface on his monitor and followed the prompts. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Tasha's brusqueness was surprising even to herself.

"Jordan Charles." He extended his hand.

"You have two first names?" Tasha put her hand out. Jordan took it and shook it once, but didn't let go.

"Through no fault of my own. Are you going to tell me your name?" He was still holding her hand.

Tasha decided that she didn't mind the contact. "Natasha Yar."

Jordan turned her hand over and put his thumb in the center of her palm. His eyes hadn't left hers. She finally pulled away.

"Sounds Russian," he commented.

"Ukrainian," she corrected, "but I've never been there."

"I have. The region is famous for its beautiful women." His eyes had a twinkle that he seemed perfectly aware of.

"Good afternoon, class. We'll begin by going over the syllabus," Ramirez announced. "Access the content on your monitors now."

"Guaranteed to be the last lesson I understand on the first try," Tasha whispered.

"Oh yeah? Maybe we can be study partners. I like physics," Jordan whispered back.

Tasha gave him a sidelong glance. "Maybe."

"Do it quietly, cadets," Ramirez remonstrated.

* * *

><p>Tasha found her suitemates nearly finished by the time she sat down with her dinner tray. Flores tossed her brown bob back and didn't meet Tasha's eyes. Saj and Maynor nodded to her, but kept up a steady stream of conversation. Tasha set to her dinner without speaking.<p>

Saj got up to leave. "See you all later. I have lab at 1800 hours."

"When's it over?" Maynor asked.

"2030," Saj answered.

"Then she'll be home to tuck you in," added Flores.

"Cut it out," Tasha said quietly.

"Relax, Yar. I don't need you to protect me," Maynor said with a huff. "I can take care of myself."

Tasha frowned and looked down at her dinner. An awkward silence ensued.

"Yeah, well, catch you all later," Saj said, tucking glossy black strands of hair into her French braid.

"'Bye, Sarge," Flores said with a smirk.

Saj gave her an unamused look and walked away. The three suitemates ate without looking at each other or speaking, Tasha wolfing down her food, Tricia finishing her dessert, and Ishanti pushing food around with her fork. The youngest girl finally rose. "I have a ton of Warp Design homework. I'm going to the study center," she said, and picked up her tray.

"Basic Warp Design?" Flores asked with astonishment. "That's a sophomore class."

Maynor shook her head. "Advanced. I'm with the seniors. Gotta go." She walked away, a half-smile on her face.

"Great. Kid's a super-genius, but she still believes in the Bogeyman," Flores grumbled.

"What's your damage? Why can't you leave her alone?" Tasha asked.

"What's it to you? Why can't you lighten up? I'm just teasing her," Flores countered.

Tasha turned back to her dinner, determined to finish post-haste. Flores watched her for a few moments.

"Y'know, no one's gonna take that from you, Yar. You always eat like you've never seen food before."

Tasha felt a cold fury rise inside of her. She put down her fork and napkin and gripped the edges of the table. Flores narrowed her eyes.

"One day, that mouth is going to get you into trouble, cadet," Tasha said. She was trying not to think about the colony. Back home, she would have had the other girl on the floor with a foot on her neck. But Tasha was in Starfleet because she'd embraced discipline, and she fought to control her temper.

"Trouble from who? Are you going to do something? How 'bout you grow a thicker skin - you're going to need it if you want to be a security officer," Flores taunted.

"I don't need your advice," Tasha said warningly.

"Am I intruding?"

The two suitemates looked up at the newcomer. Flores raised her eyebrows. "Not at all. Join us, please." She put up her freckled hand. "Patricia Flores."

"Jordan Charles." He sat down next to Tasha. "You bolted right after class."

"I wanted to work out before dinner," she replied.

Flores looked from one to the other, and picked up her tray. "I'm going back to the room. See you there, Yar." She gave her an arch look.

Tasha scowled. "See ya."

Jordan pulled his chair closer. "Do you always work out twice a day?"

Tasha shook her head. "I'm thinking of going out for the Parrises Squares B Team. I'm not sure, though; that physics class is going to kick my butt. I might wait until second year." She paused. "How did you know I worked out earlier?"

"Aren't you in Basic Hand-to-Hand?"

"Yeah."

"Word gets around. I heard you threw Benny Tompkins like you were in zero-grav on the first day of class. He thinks he's a tough guy."

Tasha expelled a breath. "I didn't realize it was a hot topic."

"You're the hot topic." Jordan smiled, showing dimples in both cheeks and the killer twinkle in his eyes.

Tasha laughed. "Is that supposed to be some kind of line?"

"No – this is. Go out with me."

"Out where? I have five hours of homework to do by Thursday. I'm not going anywhere," Tasha scoffed.

"Friday, then. Go for a walk with me." Jordan's smile didn't falter.

"No chance. Friday belongs to physics."

"Okay, how about a study session?"

Tasha smiled, her own dimples making a showing. "You're a persistent guy, Charles."

"Sometimes, it pays off." He gave her chair a push with his foot. "C'mon."

Tasha tried to think of a reason to protest, but gave up. "Okay. Study center on Friday afternoon."

Jordan leaned forward. "It's a date. See you in class Thursday." He slid his chair back and stood. He was tall, well-built, and a few heads turned from the tables nearby.

"See ya." Tasha pushed her bangs back self-consciously. She wasn't the only person in the room to watch him go.


	5. Chapter 5

With the tap of a serial number on the access pad, the doors of the simulation lab slid opened to reveal a fantasyland. Tasha almost skipped inside – fifteen stations, each one overlaid with a tactical systems panel. She had seen one onboard a starship, had even touched one before, but this was the simulated real deal. She would have her own console to explore and control for the next four years: Introduction to Tactical Systems was just the beginning. She wanted to jump out of her skin with excitement.

The gray-haired teacher had a hollow pip on his uniform collar. He didn't greet the cadets as they entered the secured room, but his large monitor showed the first initial, last name, and location of each cadet as they signed in. When all 15 stations were occupied, he began.

"Mornin', class. I'm Chief Mahoney. Don't bother to call me Professor – I won't answer to it. I got no degrees, and I didn't learn what I know from settin' in a classroom. You young 'uns won't sit, either, so don't start searching the closet for the chairs."

A nervous titter went through the room. He continued in his warm brogue. "What you see in front of you is an accurate simulation of a Starfleet tactical console. If you step onboard the latest starship, the real thing will look no different. So, now you know that you went through a 12-hour psych profile and background check for good reason."

More polite laughter. Chief Mahoney began to circulate through the room. "Most of the display readouts will appear in code. It's your job to memorize those codes in the best way that you know how. We don't have any displays with a big red button that says, 'Push here to blast 'em.' The codes are real Starfleet combinations, just a few months out of date, and they'll change with the same frequency they would on a ship. By the time we get to the end of this semester, you'll be able to memorize the contact numbers of 10 fit birds like it was nothin'."

Mahoney dropped all levity suddenly, and stopped in the center of the room. "Eyes on me, class. The things you learn in here, you can't share with anyone. It means the end of your career, or worse, to talk about what you've seen in this room. This is where you learn to live two lives: the one you share with your family and friends, and the one that's classified."

Tasha felt right at home. Keep secrets from everyone she knew? No problem.

"We meet twice a week, Wednesday and Friday, for 50-minute sessions. You must log at least two hours of in-lab practice a week. Most students just stick around after class on Friday and get it done all at once. Reservations are by seniority, so I suggest that you reserve a time for the whole semester and get into a routine." He smacked his hands and rubbed them together. "Now then, let's start with cruise mode."

* * *

><p>Tasha could still see the tactical console when she sat down in Creative Writing. She had gone back to the simulation lab later that night, and dreamt about it when she went to sleep. Conditioning and Hand-to-Hand had kept her distracted in the morning, but now she was back to imagining herself onboard a starship, the guardian of hundreds of lives.<p>

The firm voice of the professor broke through her daydream. "Did everyone complete the reading for today's class? We're going to begin with an in-class writing. I'd like you to think of a childhood memory with a beginning, middle, and end. Get it down in words on your monitor, and then we'll pair up and share with the class. You have ten minutes."

The professor walked through the rows of desks, past the audio learners who spoke quietly into microphones, the reader/writers who worked silently with stylus pens, and the kinesthetic learners who grabbed words and letters from a virtual keyboard. Tasha sat staring off into space.

"Mr. Yar, do you need assistance?"

"No, Prof. Ramsey. I'm not going to do the assignment," Tasha said coolly.

The gray-haired, brown-skinned teacher gave her a look of surprise. "Why not?"

Tasha gave her an unsure look. "I calculated the grade average for the in-class writings, sir. We have 20. One zero won't affect my final grade."

Ramsey was still nonplussed. "Why do you want a zero?"

"I can't complete the assignment, sir. I don't have any childhood memories to write about," Tasha replied, as quietly as possible.

Ramsey squatted down to meet her at eye level. "That can't be true, Mr. Yar. Just pick any memory. It doesn't have to be special – it can be mundane."

"You don't understand, sir. I can't. There's nothing I can share with the class."

Ramsey furrowed her brow. "Mr. Yar, this assignment is not optional. I order you to complete it."

Tasha frowned. "Can I make something up?"

Ramsey was losing patience. "Did you complete the reading for today's assignment?" A nod. "What was the subject of the article?"

"Voice – finding your own voice as a writer."

"And how do you intend to explore your own authentic voice using a made-up event?"

"I don't know, sir. I just know I can't use a real one," Tasha replied with exasperation.

Ramsey straightened up and stood above her. "See me after class, Mr. Yar."

"I can't, sir. I have exactly 30 minutes to eat lunch and make my counseling session at 1300 hours. If I stay after, I won't have time to eat, and I'm already hungry," Tasha explained in a rush. "Can I come to your office hour?"

Ramsey looked into the earnest blue eyes of the young girl. "That won't be necessary." She raised her voice. "Class, you may choose to write about an event from your first week at the Academy. I'll give you an additional seven minutes."

Tasha looked up at the professor in relief. "Thank you, sir."

Ramsey nodded. Those eyes were too old to be in a teenager's face. Yar could save whatever confessions lay behind them for the counselor.

* * *

><p>The waiting room of the counseling center was spa-like in its décor: a fountain gurgled behind transparent aluminum and a large, saltwater aquarium was filled with exotic, slow-swimming fish. The walls and furnishings were done in soothing earth tones. Tasha thought that the place had a good vibe.<p>

The door to the office opened, and a petite woman stood in the doorway. She had long brown hair and dark eyes that seemed to have no demarcation between iris and pupil. "Come in, Cadet."

Tasha obeyed. She perched herself on the edge of an armchair.

"I'm Counselor Lver. Please call me Jin."

"Okay, Jin," Tasha replied.

"What should I call you?" the counselor asked.

"Yar works."

Jin nodded. "I hope we'll be on less formal terms at some point."

"Yar's not formal – it's my name."

"Then, how about I call you Natasha?"

Tasha snorted. "No one calls me that."

Jin nodded and made a note on her PADD. "How's the first week been so far?"

"Okay. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Can you read my thoughts?" Tasha blurted out.

Jin had the softest, yet most penetrating gaze Tasha had ever encountered. "Yes."

"So, you're really a telepath?"

"I'm a Betazoid. On my home world, we don't speak. We communicate our words by thought."

"Right. So, if you can read my mind, why do I need to talk to you during my session? You already know everything I'm thinking."

Jin smiled. "Why do you think?"

Tasha thought about it for several moments. "My psychologists have told me that talk therapy works because I find the answers to my problems on my own. They couldn't help me by just handing me the answers. It's the process of working things out for myself that helps me to heal."

"And do you think you still need to be healed?" Jin asked.

Tasha frowned. "Definitely. Let me tell you what happened in Creative Writing today…."

* * *

><p>Jordan waited in the study center. He had reserved one kinesthetic monitor for the two of them – he thought it might be nice to share. His eyes rested on every cute girl that walked by, but he felt a definite buzz when he saw the one he was waiting for: tall, blond, long legs, slammin' body. He automatically threw his shoulders back and his chest out. "Yar, over here."<p>

She nodded and crossed over to him, dropping her PADD on the table and flopping into the chair beside him. "Class yesterday was a minefield. I don't know how I'm going to survive," Tasha said unceremoniously.

"Good evening to you, too." Jordan flashed his 100-watt grin at her. She couldn't suppress an answering smile. "So, where do you want to start?"

"Matter/Energy/Spacetime Curvature. My head hurts just saying it," Tasha sighed.

"You want to jump in the deep end. Okay, let's get to it," Jordan replied.

Jordan found Tasha to have an interesting mind. She was like a sponge – once she grasped a concept, she was ready to move on immediately, but it wasn't impatience. When they reviewed, he found that she had absorbed the material fully. She was a quick study, and had memorized the formulas they'd learned in class without a single flaw. He wondered why she was having any difficulty at all. It was as if she suffered from a lack of exposure to all of the necessary information, rather than a lack of comprehension.

"Okay, so if I were to fire phasers on a planet without accounting for the motion, mass, and time in this equation, I'd miss, right? That's what it boils down to?" Tasha asked.

"Right."

"Well, that I can understand." Tasha rubbed her eyes. "It takes so long for me to get to that point. It's exhausting."

Jordan reached over and rubbed her shoulders. It felt good to her, but Tasha shook him off.

"Do you want to go back to my room? We could keep studying there," Jordan asked nonchalantly.

Tasha gave a short laugh. "What's wrong with the study center?"

"It's bright, it's crowded, and I want to lie down," Jordan replied.

"Well, it doesn't bother me," countered Tasha.

"My roommates are all out – we could have some quiet," Jordan coaxed.

"Let's just keep going," said Tasha seriously.

"C'mon. I'm having a hard time concentrating." Jordan put his hands on Tasha's shoulders again and pressed his fingers into her muscles. "You're distracting me."

Tasha felt a glimmer of response inside. "Are you saying you won't keep studying with me unless I go back to your room?"

Jordan's fingers stopped, and then started again, working down her back. "What if I am?"

"If I give you what you want, will you give me what I want?" Tasha asked bluntly.

Jordan took his hands off of her and looked her in the eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If I go back to your room and let you do what you want to do to me, then can we keep studying?" Tasha replied dispassionately.

Jordan's mouth fell open. "Jeez, Yar." He put a hand on the back of his head. "You sound like a pimp."

"I'm just stating facts. I want to keep studying. You're helping me. If you want something in kind, that's fine, but let's get on with it." Her face had taken on a hard look.

Jordan shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, do you want to or don't you? We're wasting time," insisted Tasha.

"No," said Jordan quietly, "Not anymore."

"Fine. The next concept I was struggling with was how that equation relates to variable-symmetry force fields." Tasha tried to catch Jordan's eyes, but he was still looking down, completely stunned. "Charles? Are you with me?"

"Yeah." He shook it off and touched the monitor.

_A/N: Thanks to The Physics of Star Trek, by Lawrence M. Krauss_


	6. Chapter 6

The first weeks of classes found Tasha settling into a routine. The work was difficult, but she was amazed to find herself up to the pressure. More challenging was the effort of making friends. Tasha found little common ground to share with her suitemates besides the stress and constant work that all of the freshmen were experiencing. She found it just as hard to connect with her other classmates – she couldn't find the right words whenever someone tried to make small talk with her before class, and after class, she was always in a rush to get to the next thing on her schedule. She had never thought that living in a place with so many people could feel so lonely.

One Wednesday morning, as a specially scheduled formation broke up on the parade grounds, she felt someone touch her arm. "Hey, Yar."

"Hey, Charles," she replied.

He fell into step with her. "Are you ready for the astrophysics test tomorrow? It looks like a killer from the study guide," Jordan said.

"I know. I'm worried," Tasha admitted.

"Do you want to study together?"

Tasha shook her head. "No time. I have History, then Seminar, then Tactical, and then lab. I barely have time to eat. I'm going to end up pulling an all-nighter."

"I could do that with you," Jordan offered.

Tasha gave him a look. "I don't think so."

"Why not? I don't bite, unless you ask me to." He flashed her a grin.

Tasha had become inured to Jordan's constant innuendos. "No dice, Charles. Good luck tomorrow." She sped up and walked away.

"Same to you. You can't avoid me forever, Yar," he called after her retreating back. "Admit it: you like me."

Tasha walked briskly to the Humanities building. She had to admit, she did like him a little. He was the only person on campus who had reached out to her, and he wasn't put off by her prickly responses to his advances. She had to give it to him – he was persistent.

She took a seat in the front row of the vast lecture hall. She had wanted to like History of the Federation, but Professor Morgan made it so dull, it was all that she could do to stay awake. The room held over 100 cadets, and when it was filled to capacity, it didn't feel like a lecture hall, but a creaky pen of barely-contained squirming bodies. She flipped open the monitor in her desk and waited for the drone to begin.

They were halfway through a unit on systems of government on Federation worlds. Each description started with a general definition and moved on to planets that exemplified the form of government. Tasha hid a yawn behind one hand and made notes on her PADD as Morgan described meritocracy, monarchy, theocracy, and parliamentary assembly. The images of the planets and their major cities winked by on her monitor as he spoke about each one. The cadet to her right was sinking down to his desk and jerking up like a marionette. Tasha willed herself to stay alert. If only the teacher wouldn't speak in a monotone . . .

Words poured out of Prof. Morgan like a colorless dribble from a pitcher. "…and is shown by governing bodies such as the Federation Council and the Klingon High Council to be a generally stable form of government, but not immune to external or internal intrigue and sedition. Moving on. Anarchy: lawlessness, or a loose assembly of anti-establishment factions."

Tasha jumped in her seat. The grayish white planet that appeared on her monitor was shockingly familiar. She had last seen it through the viewports on the USS Galahad.

"Turkana IV is an example of a failed Federation colony, where warring factions have undermined a corrupt, ineffectual local government. As you can see from the images, an anarchic political state may be evidenced by deliberate destruction of infrastructure, forced states of poverty and homelessness, rampant criminal behavior, and the subjugation of the citizenry through acts of terror."

Tasha watched as images of the central city appeared and disappeared on the monitor. She was familiar with many of the bombed-out locations that went by, but there were changes – it looked even worse than it had when she'd escaped. The people in the pictures looked as wild and dangerous as the scenery. She was suddenly aware of her heart beating in her chest.

"These images were recorded by the USS Essex last year, our most recent contact with the colony. The warring factions rebuff all attempts by the Federation to reintegrate them into society. The crew of the Essex risked their lives to provide the update."

Tasha started to hyperventilate. The cadet to her left turned to her, and asked, "Are you all right?"

Prof. Morgan droned on at the front of the hall. "Matriarchy and Patriarchy: political systems in which gender plays a role in the selection of governing parties or persons."

Tasha got up from her seat and ran to the exit, taking the steps up the aisle two at a time. She slammed the door behind her and slumped down to the floor, trying to stop the full-blown panic attack that she felt coming on.

* * *

><p>Tasha sat on her bed in her room that night, studying for her astrophysics exam. She took sips from the cup of coffee on her nightstand, and scrolled between the study guide, her notes, the text, and other research material on her PADD. She felt drained and overwhelmed, but she pushed herself to continue. The last time she'd checked the hour, it was 0200; that was at least a half hour ago. She was still fully dressed in uniform, down to her boots. She was alone in her room with all of the lights on. As usual, Maynor had elected to sleep in Saj's bed. Tasha didn't find that noteworthy – she'd spent plenty of hours curled up around her baby sister, huddled together for warmth and safety. That had ended when Ishara had joined a gang, and Tasha remembered how much she'd missed those little hands clutching at her neck. She shook it off and tried to fix her mind on physics equations, but her attention wandered again.<p>

The pictures from the colony that she'd seen during class had left a strong impression on her. The city had deteriorated, and the piles of rubble seemed to outnumber the standing structures. Ishara was still trapped there, living a life with no real future, if she lived. How Tasha had fought to protect her, even killed to protect her, just to leave her behind, powerless to persuade the little girl to leave. The guilt and grief welled up in her; she pressed her palms into her eyes and felt it rise in her stomach. For a moment, she could see herself back in that desolate wasteland, hiding behind a pile of rubble, holding her breath for fear of being discovered. She could taste the dust in her mouth and hear the taunts of the men in the mob that was hunting her. She yanked her hands off of her face. A flashback – she hadn't had one in over a year. She tried to remember a coping technique, tried to talk herself calmer, but she felt so exhausted. The stress of the looming exam, her sense of panic, and the intense guilt all combined together into one crippling sensation. Tasha curled up in a fetal ball and rocked on her side, fighting to regain control.

* * *

><p>Saj smacked the top of her alarm a millisecond after it had sounded: 0700. She never ate breakfast before her 0800 class, so there was plenty of time to get ready and put up her hair. She eased herself out of bed, trying not to disturb Ishanti, who was still asleep. <em>Kid looks five, not sixteen<em>, Saj thought. She barged into the closed bathroom and ignored a yell of protest from Flores, who was brushing her hair.

"Hey, can't a body get some privacy around here?"

"Shut up and move over." Saj jammed her toothbrush into her mouth. She looked at the opposite door, and noticed light shining under the sill. She spat out toothpaste and rinsed. "Hey, are the lights on in Yar's room?"

"I don't know. She has class at 0700 every day. Maybe she left them on," Tricia replied.

"That's not like her." Saj pushed the door open and swore. Tasha was asleep in her uniform on top of her blankets.

"Crap, she must've forgotten to set her alarm. She has that test that's freaking everyone out today," Tricia said.

The two cadets went into the room and snapped off the lights. Mellow sunlight illuminated the room through the open shades. Saj and Tricia bent close to the sleeping girl, and Saj reached out to shake her shoulder.

In the adjoining room, Ishanti was jolted out of her sleep by the sound of screams. She leapt out of bed and ran into the other room. She stopped and screamed – Tricia was doubled up on the floor clutching her belly, and Saj was crouched against the bed with her face in her hands and blood spurting between her fingers. The screams were coming from her. Tasha was sitting up beside her, looking frightened and confused.

Ishanti ran forward and knelt beside Tricia, reaching under her hunched-up shoulders to tap her communicator. Ishanti's voice came out as a high-pitched shriek. "Medical emergency in the freshman dorm, suite 14-C. Come quick! Medical emergency in 14-C!"


	7. Chapter 7

The medical team burst through the open door. The doctor rushed to help Saj, who was holding a towel to her bleeding face. The medical assistant bent over Tricia, still curled up on the floor, and probed her with a tricorder. The nurse spoke to Tasha and Ishanti. "What happened?"

"I don't know," replied Ishanti "I came in here when I heard screams."

"I don't either," said Tasha. "The screams woke me up."

"What do you mean?" groaned Tricia. "You _attacked _us."

"What?" Tasha looked from Tricia to Saj, whose bleeding was slowing under the doctor's ministrations. "I did not. I was asleep."

"Security to 14-C," the nurse said over the comm.

"This can't be happening," Tasha whispered.

"She's stable," the doctor reported. He tapped his communicator. "Dr. Chen to transporter center. Four to beam directly to infirmary emergency care." He looked over at the nurse. "Stay here until the security team arrives."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Energize." The four disappeared, leaving behind the blood-soaked towel and blanket.

Ishanti was staring at Tasha in horror. "Why would you do that? Why did you hurt them?"

"I didn't hurt anybody, Maynor. You have to believe me," Tasha replied.

Two security officers entered through the open door. The nurse addressed them. "We have a report that this cadet attacked two other students."

"I _didn't_!" Tasha shouted.

"You must come to the office of judicial affairs with us, Cadet. What's your name?" one of the security officers asked.

"Yar. I'm telling you, I didn't do anything wrong!"

"That's not for us to decide. You must come with us now."

Tasha obeyed, feeling herself go numb. She looked back at Maynor as the officers led her out the door. The younger girl was still staring at her with eyes wide with fear.

Tasha talked to herself under her breath as they walked. "I'm missing class. I must've slept through my alarm. Or I never set it. Can't remember. Can't believe this is happening." To the officers, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"The administrative building. The Superintendent will open an investigation into the incident."

"Will I be able to go to class? I have an astrophysics test today," Tasha explained.

The officers looked at each other and then at her. "Cadet, you're going to the brig. Attacking a classmate is grounds for expulsion."

Tasha felt a chill settle into her body. She walked without feeling anything, breathless and cold, between the officers through the sanded pathways of the quad.

* * *

><p>Tasha lay on the narrow bench in the detention cell with her face to the wall. She was still enormously fatigued, and she drifted in and out of a troubled stupor, too upset to fall asleep. At the sound of the outer bulkhead doors opening, she jerked upright. Counselor Lver and a man Tasha didn't recognize entered the room and faced the force field.<p>

"Mr. Yar, this is Captain Carson. He's the Associate Dean of Student Affairs, and a member of the inquiry committee," the counselor said to Tasha.

"Captain," Tasha greeted him.

"Cadet, we have a few questions for you," Dean Carson began. "Can you tell us what happened this morning?"

"I don't know, sir. I was up late studying for my first astrophysics exam. I must've fallen asleep. Next thing I know, my suitemates were in my room, and they were hurt."

"Did you attack them?" the dean asked.

"No, sir."

The counselor and the dean exchanged a look. "Can you tell us anything else that you remember?"

"No, sir. That's all. But I didn't have any reason to hurt them."

Counselor Lver turned to the dean. "I sense no deception from her."

"But you didn't sense deception from Cadet Flores, either. One of them must be lying," he replied.

"Sir? What's going to happen to me?" Tasha asked.

Dean Carson turned back to her. "After we have completed our investigation, there will be a hearing. We expect it to come together very quickly."

"I understand, sir." Tasha looked away. "Are they both okay?"

"Cadet Flores had some internal bruising, but no ruptures or bleeding. Cadet Sajnani is in surgery to repair a broken nose and jaw."

"Oh, my god." Tasha felt stunned. "I'm so sorry. I wish I knew what happened."

"It's my job to find out, Cadet. The hearing is tentatively scheduled for 1500 hours tomorrow. We will see you then." The dean nodded to the counselor, and they left. Tasha lay back down and turned her face to the wall.

* * *

><p>She was pacing the length of the detention cell hours later when another visitor arrived. Jordan nodded to the security officer and stood in front of the force field. "Hey, Yar. They said it was okay for me to visit you."<p>

"How did you find out I was here?" Tasha asked, her voice betraying irritation.

"Your roommate. But I think pretty much everyone in the freshman dorm knows," Jordan replied.

Tasha sighed and resumed pacing. "I didn't do it, you know."

"No one said you did. I just came by to see if you were okay."

Tasha felt torn. She felt ashamed, and hated for Jordan to see her in disgrace, and yet she was grateful that he had come to support her. She didn't know what to say.

"You missed the test," he went on after a few silent moments.

"How'd it go?"

"I think I did alright. But it was tough."

Tasha nodded. There was silence for several minutes.

"I guess I'll go. I thought you might need someone to talk to. Guess I was wrong." Jordan turned away.

"Wait." He turned back at Tasha's request. "Thanks for coming, Charles. I … uh … it was really nice of you."

He smiled. "You're welcome, Yar. Don't let the bastards grind you down."

* * *

><p>The investigation went on for another full day before the hearing convened. Tasha sat alone at a table, and watched her suitemates come in and sit down at a second table. Neither one would meet her eyes. It was an open hearing, and Tasha guessed that the people in the front row of the audience section were members of her suitemates' families. She swallowed hard – they were all looking at her, and their expressions were not kind. She waited for the proceedings to begin.<p>

Superintendent Tuvar called the room to order. "This hearing is convened to determine the culpability of Cadet Natasha Yar in the incidence of an attack on two students on Stardate 33718.3. I call Cadet Tillotama Sajnani to testify."

Saj stood up. There were no signs of her injuries; her beautiful face had completely healed.

"Cadet Sajnani, can you describe the events of the day in question?" Tuvar asked.

"Yes, sir. I got up for class. I was in the head when I noticed that Yar's lights were on. I opened the door, and I saw that she was still asleep, so Flores and I went in to wake her up. I reached down and shook her shoulder, and she punched me in the face. Twice, I think. It hurt a lot, and I started yelling. Ishanti came in and called for medical assistance. Then she grabbed a towel and tried to stop the bleeding. The medics came and took me to the infirmary, and told me they were going to put me under right away. That's all I remember."

"Did you do anything to provoke Cadet Yar?"

"No, sir."

"Had you done anything in the recent past that could have provoked her to retaliate?"

"No, sir."

"That is all. You may be seated. Cadet Flores, please stand. Can you describe the events of the day in question?"

Tricia's story was the same, but she testified that Tasha had kicked her in the stomach. "Those boots have steel in the toe, sir. It was no joke. I went down like a senior on prom night." She gritted her teeth. "Sorry, sir. That was inappropriate."

"Please confine your remarks to statements of fact, Cadet," the superintendent admonished her. "Had you done anything to provoke Lt. Yar?"

"Well, I think I rub her the wrong way, sir. She doesn't really have a sense of humor, so we haven't gotten along so well."

Tasha bit her lip to keep silent.

"Had Cadet Yar said or done anything to indicate that she might retaliate against you for provoking her?"

"Well, she did tell me that my big mouth was going to get me in trouble someday. But it's not like I've never heard that before. I just never expected her to beat me up for real. I mean, my brothers are always threatening to shut my mouth for me, and they only beat me up maybe half the times they promise to."

Three burly boys in the front row, one in a yellow Starfleet uniform, snickered and whispered at this. Their father shushed them as the superintendent struck a bell for silence. "Were Cadet Yar's eyes open when she kicked you?" Tuvar asked.

"No way could I know, sir. Saj was in front of me, and I couldn't see Yar's face."

"Thank you, Cadet. You may be seated. I call Cadet Ishanti Maynor to the witness stand."

The slim girl rose from the audience and walked to the front of the hearing room. She sat down in the witness chair, visibly nervous.

"Cadet Maynor, can you describe the events of the day in question?"

"I was asleep for most of it, sir," she answered. "I woke up when I heard screaming. Saj and Flores were hurt, and Yar was sitting up in bed."

"Was Cadet Yar awake or asleep?"

"Awake, sir."

"Can you describe her state as she appeared to you? Was she angry?"

Ishanti pursed her lips. "No, sir. She wasn't angry – she looked scared."

"Had you heard sounds of an altercation?"

"No, sir, but I was sleeping."

"Did Cadet Yar have personal problems with Cadets Sajnani and Flores, problems that could have given her cause to attack them?"

Ishanti considered. "Yar kind of keeps to herself. Flores likes to tease me, and Yar doesn't really like that. Saj and Yar are sorta protective about me. Maybe they got into a fight about it, but I didn't hear anything like that."

"Then your statement is speculative only, not based in fact."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. You may return to you seat."

Ishanti went back into the audience with a sigh of relief.

"I call Cadet Yar to testify," the superintendent continued.

Tasha stood up and scanned the faces of the audience. All eyes were on her. Her heart beat faster. She took a deep breath and focused on Superintendent Tuvar.

"Cadet Yar, do you suffer from any ailments, conditions, or disorders?"

Tasha grimaced and wiped her hands on the trousers of her uniform. "Yes, sir."

"Would you state it for the record?"

"It's in my personnel file. Do I have to?" Tasha asked.

"Yes, Cadet."

She sighed. "PTSD."

"The acronym stands for?"

"Post-traumatic stress disorder." Tasha looked down at the floor.

"How and when were you diagnosed, Cadet?"

She looked up and scanned the faces of the audience again, and then looked over at her suitemates. _Here goes_, she thought. "Four years ago, when I was rescued from the colony where I grew up. The medical staff on the USS Galahad recognized the symptoms right away – they expected them. They started treatment almost as soon as I was onboard."

"What is the name of the colony where you grew up, Cadet?"

Tasha narrowed her eyes at the superintendent. Would it be worth it to ask him to have a little consideration for her? Once it was out, she would no longer have a chance at being considered normal. Everyone would know what she was – everyone would know that she didn't belong. But she knew it was pointless to plead with the impassive Vulcan officer. "Turkana IV, sir."

A ripple of astonishment went through the assembled people. Saj and Flores stared at her open-mouthed. Tasha felt her face get hot.

Tuvar showed no reaction. "And what symptoms did the medical staff of the Galahad recognize?"

It was all going to come out, for everyone to hear. "Panic attacks. Flashbacks. Sleep disturbances. Anti-social behavior. Emotional disconnection." Tasha listed them calmly.

"Was PTSD the initial diagnosis?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you still suffer from the symptoms?"

"I'm in recovery, sir. But, yes, I'm in Counselor Lver's care. It's much better than it was, but it can be triggered by stress or things that remind me of the trauma."

"What can be triggered, Cadet?"

"The symptoms." Tasha wanted to crawl under the table and slink out of the room. She prayed for the questions to end.

"You mentioned sleep disturbances. What can you tell us about your experiences?"

"I've been recorded doing things in my sleep – walking, talking, eating, and other things."

"Have you ever engaged in violent behavior in your sleep?"

Tasha was sure she was going to be ill. "Yes, sir."

"Can you describe it?"

Here it was, the moment of truth, the end of her short-lived Starfleet career. "On the Galahad, I fought with a nurse who was trying to inject me. I don't have any memory of it, but I know it happened. Two people witnessed it – Starfleet officers." She was sure she would die from embarrassment.

"Is this typical for PTSD sufferers?"

"I can't tell you, sir. My doctor from boarding school would know. Dr. B helped everyone in my ward."

"Understood. Cadet, do you hold any malice for your suitemates?"

"No, sir," Tasha said vehemently. "Flores and I have had a hard time getting along, but I would never hurt her, or Saj, not willingly. I left behind violent behavior when I escaped the colony. I joined Starfleet because I believe in its tenets. If I was the one who hurt them, I apologize." She looked at her suitemates, who looked back at her with expressions of confusion and concern. "I'm so sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I hope you believe me."

"Thank you, Cadet. You may sit down," Tuvar said.

Tasha sank into her chair. She felt as if someone had wrung her out – she was limp and drained. She looked into the audience, and where there had been angry accusatory looks, she now saw glimmers of sympathy. And pity. She didn't know which felt worse.

Superintendent Tuvar nodded to Dean Carson, who rose and went to the door. "I call an expert witness to testify: Dr. Bernard Karasov."

Tasha gasped. The doors opened to admit a heavyset man nearly two meters tall, with shaggy brown hair and a long drooping grey mustache. She clasped her hands under the table and smiled at him. He gave her a wink and sat down in the witness chair.

"Dr. Karasov, will you state your field of expertise for the record?"

"I'm a licensed psychologist and psychotherapist, specializing in anxiety disorders," he replied.

"Are you acquainted with Cadet Yar?"

The doctor smiled at her. "Tasha was in my care for four years. I work with the Southern California New Horizons School, a boarding facility for youths with special needs. Tasha continued to see me when she attended the Bay Area Academy Prep School last year. Over that time, I've watched her make significant strides in her recovery. She's a remarkable young woman."

"Are sleep disorders a common symptom for PTSD sufferers?"

"Yes. Symptoms can range from nightmares and insomnia to bouts of activity during sleep that can last up to 30 minutes. The sleeping person may have her eyes open as she goes for a walk or performs tasks, but she is fully asleep and will retain no memory of the incident."

"Have there been recorded instances of a PTSD patient committing violent acts in his or her sleep?"

"Yes, I have documented such instances in my practice. They're rare, but they do occur."

"What may cause them?"

"If the patient is having a nightmare and is violently awakened, he or she may respond violently."

The superintendent nodded. "Is this possible in the case of Cadet Yar?"

The doctor answered without hesitation. "Natasha Yar is a special young woman. Her survival on the colony depended on her toughness, and that's a hard habit to break. She survived in an environment where her wellbeing and her life could be in danger at any given moment. But the skills that protected her on Turkana IV are out of place on Earth. We helped her to let go of some of that constant anxiety. She's come a long way." He smiled, but with chagrin. "Yes, it's possible."

"And if Cadet Yar caused harm to another person upon being suddenly awakened, in your expert opinion, can she be held culpable for her actions?"

The room was completely silent, and the doctor became serious. "Tasha is capable of doing harm in her sleep, given the proper set of circumstances. She should take precautions to isolate her sleeping area, to protect herself and others. She would not be in control of her actions, and should not be held responsible for what she might do while asleep."

A murmur went through the room. The superintendent spoke. "Thank you, Doctor. That is all." He struck the bell and faced the now-quiet audience. "If there are no objections from the judicial committee, this hearing is concluded. I call a recess to deliberate. One hour." The superintendent rose and left the room, followed by Dean Carson and Counselor Lver.

The doctor crossed over to Tasha's table. She stood up, and he wrapped her in a hug, dwarfing the tall girl. He released her and mussed her short hair. "How are you, Tasha?"

"Oh, Dr. B." She hugged him again and hid her face in his arm.

He patted her head. "Shhh. It's going to be all right."

* * *

><p>It was early evening when Tasha and Dr. Karasov walked away from the administrative building together.<p>

"Maybe your life can get back to normal, since they didn't find you at fault," the doctor said. "I'm glad the superintendent was so thorough in his search for the truth. When he called me to campus, he told me he knew from the start that you must have had an episode in your sleep, from the information in your file. He had your whole file memorized – the Vulcan mind is a wonder."

"I'm glad, too. My life hasn't really settled into anything close to normal, though. I'm afraid it might only get worse, now that everyone knows that I got into the Academy by the skin of my teeth," Tasha replied.

"That's not true, and you know it, young lady. You wouldn't be here unless you were a gifted candidate. But you must take the conditions of the ruling seriously, Tasha. You have to monitor your own stress level, and you have to let someone know if you feel an episode coming on. Was there a trigger this time?"

Tasha nodded. "I saw pictures of the colony during history class. I almost had a panic attack, but I thought I'd gotten it under control."

"You should've let someone know. Don't take any chances from now on. The Academy has a wonderful medical staff, but they can't help you if you don't reach out to them."

"I know. I like Counselor Lver. She's really nice."

"Good." They were walking to the transportation depot, towards the western edge of the campus.

"But it's been hard. My classes are okay, but I feel so out of place with my classmates. It was so much easier to make friends at the boarding school – everyone was in the same boat."

Bernard put his arm around Tasha's shoulders and gave her a sideways hug. "Y'know, Tasha, most of the girls in your graduating class are in their second year of college now, and what I hear from them is that it's a lot easier than the first."

"Really?"

"Freshman year is hard for everyone. You're just trying to find your footing, and the ground is shifting in brand new ways. I remember my freshman year like it was yesterday – hoo boy. I wanted to run home to Mom and Dad and say 'forget you' to my psychology classes. But I stuck it out, and I know you will, too." He gave her another squeeze and let her go.

"But I don't know what to say to anyone," Tasha complained.

"I'm not going to give you a pat answer, my dear. Opening up to others may be a lifelong challenge for you. I won't tell you it will be easy, either. It'll probably be difficult. But difficult things are still worth doing, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Tasha agreed.

"You'll find a way to fit in; I know you will. You're a good person, and you deserve to be here. You deserve to be a success."

"Thanks, Doc," Tasha said. They had reached the depot. "Do you have to go back to LA right away?"

He laughed. "You know my schedule. I have 30 daughters waiting for me back at school. They all need me, too." He surrounded her in a tight hug, picking her up off of her feet and putting her back down again. "Be good, Tasha. And send me a message sometimes – don't be such a stranger."

"I'll try, Dr. B. I'm glad you came up."

"Wouldn't have missed it. Take care." He walked off towards the supersonic trains. Tasha watched him go, and then headed back to campus.

The sun was setting by the time she reached the freshman dorm. She used her key fob to open the door and crossed through the lobby, where she was stopped by the Resident Director. "Cadet Yar."

"Yes, sir?"

The gray-haired woman put a hand on Tasha's shoulder and walked her into the office. The few students in the lobby watched them go, and then went back to whispering to each other.

The RD shut the door behind them. "Cadet, you've been transferred to a single room in Cochrane hall."

Tasha was surprised and at a loss for words.

"You should return your fob to me and report to your new dorm immediately. They're waiting for you," the RD went on.

Tasha found her voice with difficulty. "But I thought I was cleared – that I wasn't going to be punished."

"It's not a punishment; it's an order from the superintendent. You don't have a choice, Mr. Yar. Your belongings have already been moved to your new room."

Tasha took the key fob out of her pocket. "But I won't be able to get into the freshman mess without this."

"There's a mess hall in Cochrane," the RD replied. She put out her hand, and Tasha dropped the fob into her palm.

"But Cochrane is an upperclassmen dorm. I won't know anybody there," Tasha added.

"It's for your own safety. You'll see. Do you know how to get there? I can provide you with a map."

"I know where it is," Tasha answered, resigned.

The RD looked at the forlorn face of the young woman. "It's going to be all right. Head on over there, now."

"Yes, sir." Tasha let herself out of the office.

The RD sighed. She unlocked a large metal cabinet and hung the grey fob on a hook inside.


	8. Chapter 8

Tasha had the weekend to settle in to her new room. It was a single octagonal space, with a replicator, standard furniture, and a sink. Everything was done in pale neutral colors, and she found it peaceful, restful on the eyes. It was quiet without her bunkmates. A large window with a built-in upholstered seat provided plenty of light and looked out over the courtyard. Tasha was curled up in the window seat, basking in the morning sun like a cat. She'd just returned from her workout, where the silence and the speculative looks that greeted her appearance in the gym told her that the news of the hearing had spread beyond the freshman class. She'd tried to focus on practicing her hand-to-hand work and ignoring the whispers of her classmates.

She got down out of the window seat and undressed, then put on a standard-issue bathrobe, black and red flannel, and waterproof thong sandals. The facilities were located in a communal area around the corner and down the hall. It would take some getting used to, she was sure. She had replicated a waterproof basket after her first visit the day before, and she filled this with her toiletries, grabbed a towel, and left the room.

The thwap of her sandals on the indoor-outdoor tiles in the hall was joined by the thud of two sets of boots. Tasha turned to see two senior boys, by the bars on their collars: one, a blond human, the other, an Andorian.

"You're new, aren't you?" asked the blond, whose haircut was not dissimilar to hers.

"What's your name?" asked the Andorian.

Tasha didn't feel like answering. She didn't know if her name had gotten around with the news of the hearing. "Excuse me," she said, and turned back to continue down the hall.

The blond senior quickly moved to block her path. "Slow down, cadet. We asked you a question."

"Must be an underclassman. Never seen her before," added his friend.

"Get out of my way," Tasha snapped.

"Bad attitude," commented the Andorian.

"Yeah, where are your manners? Did you leave them off with your uniform?" With a quick motion, the blond snatched the towel off of her arm. He took two diagonal corners and rolled it up with a few flips, then held it at the ready. "So tell us, what's your name?"

"I don't have to tell you," Tasha scoffed, jutting out her chin.

He snapped the towel at her legs. "Wrong answer. You must be a freshman, if you don't how to show proper respect to a senior."

"Should we teach her a lesson in humility?" asked the Andorian.

"I think so. Get her arms."

Without thinking twice, Tasha lobbed her hair dryer at the Andorian's antennae, eliciting a yelp of pain. The blond dropped the towel and pinned her arms by her sides. Her basket went flying. She resisted the impulse to retaliate; a fight would get her expelled for sure.

"What the hell is your damage? Let's see how cocky you are without your robe," said the blond, wrenching at her sash.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?"

Tasha felt the cadet release her arms. She straightened her robe and turned to look at the newcomer – tall, black hair, blue eyes, and a cleft chin. He leveled a serious look at the other two seniors.

The Andorian picked himself up off the ground. "No problem, Riker. Just giving the freshie a hard time."

"Find something else to do." Riker's suggestion carried a hint of warning.

"With pleasure. C'mon."

The two cadets walked away, scowling at Tasha as they passed her. She scowled back and began picking up her scattered things and slamming them into her basket. Riker picked up the towel and handed it to her. "You okay, cadet?"

"Fine. I had it under control. I didn't need any help." She grabbed her towel from him and stomped away to the bathroom.

Riker watched her go with raised eyebrows. "You're welcome," he said, and walked away in the other direction.

Tasha yanked the door shut behind her and went into one of the washroom cabins. She took off her robe and slippers and entered the inner module. "Computer: activate sonic shower." She slumped forward as the vibrations began and soap covered her body, and banged her forehead softly against the tile.

* * *

><p>Tasha arrived early at Anatomy and Conditioning the next morning, as was her wont. Prof. Alvers greeted her with a nod, but made no further comment. She felt relieved. As the rest of the class trickled in, she was sure that she discerned suspicious looks aimed her way. She had little time to ponder it; they began calisthenics at 0700 on the dot. Class passed without incident, and she was beginning to relax by the time they reached the break before Basic Hand-to-Hand.<p>

Prof. Kwon came into the workout room and walked straight over to her. "Nice to see you back, Yar."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, feeling the sensation of 29 pairs of eyes turned her way. She pretended not to notice as the room went silent and then filled with the sound of whispers.

At precisely 0800 hours, Prof. Kwon called the room to order. "Class, we continue our unit on self-defense today, with fending off attacks from a prone position. I'll need one volunteer."

Tasha put up her hand as usual, and the professor called her to the front. As she got up from the floor, she heard behind her back, "Is she gonna be the attacker? I hear she's an expert," and a few answering titters.

Prof. Kwon responded immediately. "That's enough, Tompkins. I'm giving you one warning only, and this goes for the rest of the class. We don't taunt fellow members of Starfleet, or any other sentient beings. If you have a problem with the judicial process at the Academy, I suggest that you take your concerns to the superintendent's office."

Silence greeted his remark. He fixed a fierce look on the class. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Very good. Lie down on the mat, Mr. Yar."

Tasha did as she was ordered, making an effort to hide her smile.

* * *

><p>Tasha made her way up the aisle at the end of History of the Federation, watching the whole class as a body file out of the humanities building and walk over to the freshman dorm for lunch. She watched them go for a minute, and then walked in the opposite direction, to Cochrane hall. She had holed up in her room for her meals most of the weekend, but she figured it was time to face her fears. The mess hall on the second floor of Cochrane was bursting with students and noise. She picked up a tray and got in line, and emerged at the other end with a plate of pasta and a salad. She stood in the arched doorway and surveyed the room.<p>

The upperclassmen looked like real adults, compared to the freshmen. They were bigger, taller, and looked more mature, more confident. Almost every table was filled with insular-looking groups of cadets. No way could she ask to join any of them. One table caught her eye – two long six-seaters had been pushed together, and at one end was a student with an unusual visual adaptive device over his eyes. He was telling an entertaining story, from the looks of his big gestures and the laughter of his tablemates. Tasha felt her confidence fail her. Everyone there looked like they _belonged._ She took her tray to the nearest empty table. No sooner had she set it down, but a group of four cadets appeared above her.

"I'm sorry; we usually sit here. There are only four seats. Do you mind?" asked one of the girls, a junior.

"No." Tasha picked up her tray and headed straight to the exit. This was a challenge for another day. She took the stairs to the lobby and went out the side door, circling around the building to the courtyard in the rear. It was hot outside, much hotter than it had been in August. Tasha walked into the garden, searching for some shade from the noontime sun. She found a bench under a large tree and sat down, carefully balancing her tray upright on her knees. She alternately ate bites of her lunch and shooed away flying insects. It became almost a dance as she lifted her fork and waved her hand in a syncopated rhythm.

"That tree has been around for 270 million years," said a voice behind her.

Tasha looked around, waving her hand over her plate. "Excuse me?"

"That tree you're sheltering under. It's a ginkgo. A living fossil that dates back to the Jurassic period on Earth."

Tasha finally located the speaker, crouched in a bed of flowers a few meters behind her. It was an elderly man with bushy white hair and eyebrows, wearing a blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and an olive drab coverall with darker green patches on the chest and knees.

"Wow, that's really old," she said, and bit her lip.

"Well, don't look at me like I was there to see it firsthand," he replied. He wiped his hands on his pant legs and got slowly to his feet. He walked over to her, avoiding the newly planted flowers.

"Sorry, sir."

"I'm not a 'sir,' cadet. I'm the groundskeeper. Name's Boothby." He extended his hand.

"Yar." Tasha put her tray aside and shook his hand, which was work-roughened and roped with prominent blue veins. "How can you tell what kind of tree it is?"

"By the leaves. Ginkgos have fan-shaped leaves." He pulled down a flexible branch and showed her. "You see?"

"Mm-hmm."

"It was cultivated for centuries for its medicinal properties. Helps increase blood flow to the brain, helps your attention and your memory. Just imagine what a thousand-year-old tree might remember."

Tasha smiled.

"So, why are you outside during the hottest part of the day, when you could be inside where they control the climate?" Boothby went on.

She shrugged and picked a noodle off of her plate with her fingers and put it in her mouth. "I don't know. I didn't feel that welcome inside."

"What's a fourth-class cadet doing in an upper class mess?"

"I asked myself that same question, too," she replied.

Boothby put a hand on the rough bark of the tree. "There are boy ginkgos and girl ginkgos, did you know that?" Tasha shook her head. "This is a male tree. There are lots of male trees planted in San Francisco, because they don't produce the smelly seeds that the female trees do. But they're all sterile."

"Then, why don't they die out?" Tasha asked.

Boothby let go of the tree and dusted off his hands. "Ginkgos are survivors. When the earth was devastated by the nuclear bombs of World War III, ginkgo trees were one of the few living things that survived the blasts. They're tough trees. There are some that have been recorded as being 2000 years old."

"Wow."

"Not bad for a tree that thrives on its own in the city. Just water, sunlight, and a little care, and you've got something that can stand up to almost any adversity." He gathered up his tools from the ground and put them in his pockets. "Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Yar."

"Thanks, Mr. Boothby. I will." Tasha picked up her plate as the groundskeeper walked away.


	9. Chapter 9

When Tasha got to her physics class the next afternoon, she found Jordan waiting for her outside the door.

"Congrats on beating the rap, Yar." He extended his hand. She took it, and he pulled her in for a hug before she could protest. She quickly pulled away.

"Who told you?" she asked.

"Your suitemate … well, your ex-suitemate, Sarge."

Tasha pushed open the classroom door. Jordan followed. "When were you talking to her?"

"Couple of days ago. Why? Are you jealous?"

"Ha. Why would I be?" She perched on the edge of the front table.

"Might be nice."

"What else did she say?"

Jordan gave her a serious look. "She's pretty mad at you."

Tasha looked down at the floor. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"She's not mad about that. She's angry because you never told her where you came from, and she said it was tantamount to lying."

Tasha looked up warily as more students began to come in and take their seats. She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. "What was I supposed to do? Say, 'Hi, I'm Tasha Yar, I raised myself on the streets of Turkana IV, I'm lucky to be alive, how are you?'"

Jordan whispered back, "You could give people half a chance before you decide you can't trust them with the truth."

"So they can pretend to be my friend out of pity? No, thank you."

"You could at least talk to her. Don't you think you owe her that much?"

"That's not really any of your business." Professor Ramirez came in, and Tasha straightened. "Excuse me." She went up to the podium. "Professor, is there any chance I could make up the first exam?"

"I don't give tests twice, Mr. Yar," he replied.

Her face fell. "I understand, sir."

"But, since your absence was beyond your control, I will make an exception for you. Come to my office hour before class on Thursday. You may take a makeup exam then."

Tasha breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir!"

He nodded at her and she took her seat. Jordan looked over at her. "Is that a smile? I hardly recognize you."

The smile turned into a tense line, but before she could answer, the professor called the class to order.

* * *

><p>Two days later, Tasha was in the counselor's office for her weekly session.<p>

"How nervous are you about this exam, on a scale of one to ten?" Counselor Lver asked.

"About a three," Tasha answered. "I've studied as hard as I could. It's not worth it to get so worked up. I know I'll pass."

"That's a good way to look at it. Perfectionism can be a trap."

"I feel like I have to do my best, though. I don't think my best will be perfect. It's barely adequate. I have such a long way to go, to catch up to everyone else."

Jin leaned forward. "Why do you say that? You're here. You made it. You have nothing to prove to anyone."

Tasha fixed her with a skeptical look. "I think it's going to take everything I've got to make it through four years. I have plenty to prove."

The counselor sat back. "Where do you draw the line, Yar? When will you know that you've achieved success? By what standard are you measuring yourself?"

Tasha was silent.

"I don't expect you to answer my questions now. I ask you to think on them. We can explore this topic in greater depth later. How is your social life?"

"Ummm … nonexistent."

"I don't think it's wise for you to ignore the social opportunities you have here at the Academy. Some of these students will be your superior officers one day, and all of them are your comrades. I'd like to see you make an effort to connect with your classmates. Have you spoken with Sajnani or Flores since the accident?"

Tasha hung her head. "No."

"I wouldn't advise you to avoid a confrontation, even though it might seem too difficult to face. The longer you wait, the better chance that resentment and guilt will grow between you. I challenge you to reach out to them, Yar."

Tasha sighed. "Okay, Jin."

The counselor gave her a sympathetic smile. "It may give you a sense of closure that you didn't even know you were missing. I have faith in you, Yar. I know you can do it."

_That goes for one of us,_ Tasha thought.

* * *

><p>Tasha skipped her workout to have time to eat dinner and run back to the astral sciences building after astrophysics class. She had passed her test with flying colors, but now, a new sense of dread had taken hold of her as she sat and waited on the top landing of the entrance stairs.<p>

Her patience was soon rewarded. Saj came walking up the path with two other girls, talking and laughing together. All three stopped when they saw Tasha, and then the other two walked on, casting nervous looks her way as they went inside.

"See you in there, Sarge," one said.

Saj stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment longer, folded her arms, tossed her braid off her shoulder, and quickly ascended, as if to pass Tasha by.

Tasha stood up. "Wait, Saj."

Saj glared at her. "What do you want, Yar?"

Tasha chewed a corner of her lip. "I wanted to apologize, and ask if you were okay."

"You already apologized at the hearing, and they said it wasn't your fault."

"I know. I just … I'm sorry to have put you through the whole ordeal. I hope you can forgive me."

Saj frowned. "I don't get you, Yar. Why didn't you tell us the truth from the start? You never said where you were from, or how long you'd been on Earth, or that you might need a little help sometimes. Why? I'm not a monster. I would have understood."

Tasha couldn't meet the other girl's intense gaze. "I just couldn't, Saj. I'm not … I'm not like you. I'm trying to do my best here, but I keep screwing up."

Saj looked at Tasha's forlorn face and let her arms fall to her sides. "We could've been friends, you know. Instead, you broke my face. I mean, some people say, 'I'm gonna break your face,' but I never thought I'd meet someone who would actually do it." She cocked her head at Tasha's down-turned eyes. "That's a joke."

Tasha gave her a serious look. "I'm so sorry about everything."

"Hey, no hard feelings. It was an accident." Saj looked back at the door. "I'm gonna be late for lab if I don't get a move on. Are we okay?"

Tasha nodded. "Yeah, we're okay. But what about Flores?"

Saj made a sound of exasperation. "She has bigger problems right now. That meathead has somehow gotten us involved in a prank war with the 13th floor. When I got home last night, I found all of the furniture piled up in a tower in front of the 14-D door. It took an hour to get everything back where it belonged. I don't know how they got in, but Flores vowed to escalate. She's gonna end up with a reprimand on her record if she doesn't watch out." Saj took a few steps to the door. "I've really gotta haul. See you around, Yar. I'm glad we talked."

"Me, too. See ya." Tasha exhaled a sibilant sigh as Saj pushed open the door and went inside.

* * *

><p>As the weeks went by, Tasha was gratified to feel the spotlight of notoriety turn away from her, as the campus was scandalized first by a shakeup in the attack fighter squadron assignments, and then by an out of control prank that resulted in an explosion in the basement of the freshman dorm. Autumn came on with the weather of summer, giving everyone on campus the equivalent of spring fever. The feeling was enhanced by the approach of homecoming and its accompanying activities. Tasha looked forward to the peace of winter break.<p>

She was standing outside in a crush of students, alumni, and faculty, craning her neck to watch a flight team demonstration during homecoming weekend, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Flores' freckled face.

"Hey, Yar. Enjoying the show?"

Tasha nodded and went back to searching the sky. "They're outstanding. Phoenix squadron is sure to win the Rigel Cup this year. There they are!" She pointed as the five ships zoomed into view, executing a perfect maneuver and drawing oohs and ahs from the audience. "Where're your roommates?"

"They're not talking to me right now," Flores replied.

"Don't tell me you were mixed up in –"

"No, no way, that wasn't me. I may have dared a suite on 13 that they couldn't pull off reprogramming the replicators to only produce liver and onions, the way I did, without getting caught, but I have no idea how they blew up that transformer. We were two days without power. Sarge and Maynor are pretty pissed." She considered for a moment. "So's everybody else in the freshman class."

"Maybe I shouldn't be seen talking to you, then," Tasha said.

"As if. You going to the homecoming dance?" Tasha fixed her with a look. "Excuse me for living. It was just a question," Flores added.

Tasha looked back at the horizon. "I have to study."

Flores coughed and said, "Can't get a date," and coughed again.

Tasha rolled her eyes. "I think I'm not talking to you, either." She began to thread her way out of the crowd.

The Phoenix squadron burst out of the clouds for another pass, and over the roar of their engines, Flores yelled, "Grow a sense of humor, Yar!"

* * *

><p>By midterm, Tasha decided that she had adapted to life at the Academy. Her days had settled into a continuous cycle of classes, workouts, study sessions, and formations and drills. Sleeping and eating were almost an afterthought: most meals consisted of a sandwich in the courtyard garden, and sleep was a carousel of dreamless oblivion and anxious nightmares. Midterm exams came and went, and she found herself in the center of the standings in her most difficult class, and at the top in her major. She felt like she could finally exhale.<p>

She found time for a trip to the campus barbershop on an afternoon in the middle of the week. As she waited her turn, she listened to the chatter around her: speculation on playoff chances for various teams, lamentations about midterm standings, talk of fall break plans, and the ever-present gossip about other students. But the number one topic amongst the cadets in the room was the upcoming dance.

Tasha took her seat and listened to the whirr as the barber lowered her chair. He wrapped an apron around her neck. "What'll it be, Cadet?"

"Number three in the back. Longer on the top and the sides. You can layer it above the ears, please."

The barber hesitated. "Don't you want to grow it out a little for the Sadie Hawkins dance?"

Tasha groaned. "Not you, too!"

"Sounds like you haven't asked your date, yet. Don't worry – there's still time."

"Just give me the modified high and tight. I'm not going to that stupid dance."

"Whatever you say." The clippers buzzed on and a rain of blond hair began to trickle down the apron. "The Sadie Hawkins dance is a Starfleet tradition. It'd be a shame if you missed out."

Tasha scowled and said nothing. The barber caught her expression in the mirror, and the rest of the haircut went on in silence.

* * *

><p>After Ramirez had dismissed astrophysics class the next afternoon, Jordan hurried to catch up with Tasha as she headed out the door. "Hey, Yar, you never told me who you're asking to the Sadie Hawkins dance."<p>

"Will you give it a rest, Charles? I told you, I'm not going."

He fell into step beside her as she strode down the hall. "But you missed Homecoming. You can't miss this, too."

"Watch me." They reached the stairs and clattered down to the first floor with a growing crowd of students.

"You know, the guys can't ask the girls out for this dance. You have to do the asking."

"Are you deaf? I-am-not-going."

"You have to go. It's a tradition."

Tasha stopped for a moment and put her hands on her hips. "Why is everyone so obsessed with this dance? I don't get what the big deal is. It's not a crime to want to study alone in my room on a Saturday night." She set off again at a brisk pace.

Jordan kept up with her effortlessly. "You do that every Saturday night. There's no law against having fun, you know."

They pushed the front door open and went down the stairs. The heat of the day was dissipating with the setting sun. "It doesn't sound like fun to me. I don't dance, I don't like crowds, and I don't have time for foolishness." She was walking quickly in the direction of the gym.

"I know how to dance. It's easy – I could show you. And you better not tell anyone on the program board that you can't dance. They'll have you in etiquette lessons faster than warp 10."

"Why do you keep pestering me about this?"

"Face it, Yar. You know it would be fun, but you're too scared to go. You're afraid you might embarrass yourself."

Tasha stopped short and stared at him with her mouth open. "I am not scared – you take that back."

Jordan grinned at her. "If you're not scared, then ask me to go."

"You're daring me to go to this dance?" Tasha scoffed.

"You bet your ass I am."

Tasha folded her arms and shook her head. "Fine. Go to the stupid dance with me."

"Great! It's a date. I'll pick you up at 1900 hours Saturday." Jordan stole a kiss on her cheek and ran off towards the freshman dorm.

"Hey, wait! It is _not! _We're just going as friends!" Tasha shouted after him.

The sound of laughter carried back on the dusk breeze. Tasha kicked a stone out of her path and walked on to the gym, muttering to herself under her breath.


	10. Chapter 10

The simulation lab was filled with the subdued roar of 15 cadets speaking into headsets at their stations. Chief Mahoney insisted that it was good practice to mentally block out extraneous noise, focus on one's own task, and keep the volume of the voice at a speaking level. They were all running a simulation of a standard search to locate a damaged shuttle gone missing with her crew of four on an unpopulated class M planet.

Tasha felt at home with the coded display in front of her. She spent five hours a week in the lab outside of class. Memorization came easily to her, and the columns of numbers and colored bars were no more esoteric to her now than the text on a PADD. At the moment, she was watching an emerging pattern of numbers that set off warning bells in her head. They came together as a starship. "Romulan battle cruiser de-cloaking off the port nacelle, sir," Tasha said into her mouthpiece. She heard the klaxons go off in her earpiece and saw the shields go up automatically on her readout. She powered up weapons and took the targeting auto-lock offline; if there was one ship, there might be more, and she knew she could lock on to multiple targets faster if she let the locking relay float.

"Hail them, Cadet," the voice of the computer ordered in her ear.

"Hailing frequencies open, sir."

As the captain's voice spoke over her headset, the sensors finally picked up the away team and the missing shuttle. "Captain!"

"Mute channel. What is it?"

"We've located the missing shuttle. We need nine seconds to beam her aboard, but we must lower shields," Tasha reported.

"Not with a Romulan battle cruiser staring us down."

"We outgun her, sir," Tasha reminded him.

"Understood, but that won't matter if our shields are down. Options?"

Tasha listened to the answers of the simulated crew and watched her screen with relaxed concentration. Her instincts served her well; she recognized the pattern from the sensors immediately. "Sir, second battle cruiser de-cloaking dead astern. She's powering up her weapons." Tasha increased power to the aft shields and heard the concussive impact. "Shields holding. Phasers and photon torpedoes armed and ready." The readouts showed new information. "First battle cruiser is targeting the planet. We have to get our away team back. Recommend heavy barrage to both targets, see if we can force them to cloak long enough to transport the shuttle aboard."

"Do it, Cadet."

Tasha launched salvo after salvo. She would empty the torpedo banks, if necessary. "Transporter room: stand by to beam the shuttle into shuttle bay one. Be ready; I'm going to cut your window to the bone."

"Acknowledged."

"Both targets sustaining damage. They're cloaking! Transporter Chief, get our people back!" She dropped the deflector shield and checked her display. The shuttle materialized in the bay with her crew. "Shields up."

"Get us out of here, helm. Warp 9."

Tasha scanned her readouts. "No sign of pursuit, sir."

Her screen went dark, and then flashed, "Simulation complete. Score: 98%."

Tasha grinned. She felt a rush as potent as the real thing.

In a few minutes, Chief Mahoney spoke to the class. "Time's up, cadets." He walked through the room with his arms folded behind his back. "A very poor showing today, people. Eight of you lost your ship and the away team. Four of you lost the shuttle. Only three of you passed. I don't care if there's a dance tomorrow, or the Academy Olympics, or your bloody birthday – you keep your minds focused when you're in this room. Do you think you'll never have any distractions when you're out in deep space? You're mistaken if you do. You can't let your concentration flag in a combat situation, not even for a second. It could mean hundreds of lives if you do.

"Three of you can go on to the next unit. I want the rest of you to review this module."

A banner appeared on Tasha's display: Unit Four: Module One – Varying Shield Dynamics. Mahoney stopped behind her and waited until she turned to look at him. He winked at her. "Good job, Mr. Yar."

"Thank you, Chief." She turned back to her console with a self-satisfied smile.

* * *

><p>The next night, Tasha walked to the banquet hall alone in the deepening twilight. After much argument, she had persuaded Jordan to meet her at the dance. The sky threatened rain, but it hadn't started by the time she got to the round white building. The windows were all shaded, but she could still feel the energy from the mass of people inside. She pressed her lips together; she had made up her face for the occasion, and the slick feel of her lipgloss was unfamiliar. She screwed up her courage and went through the front door.<p>

The lobby inside was festooned with streamers and balloons. It was brightly lit, and the scattered banquettes and chairs held mostly couples engaged in deep conversation and the odd small group of students. Tasha flicked her eyes right and left at them, and walked through to the tall doors of the ballroom. Inside, the dance was a sea of crimson, as most of the cadets wore their dress reds. Here and there, a fashionably dressed townie varied the sanguine color scheme. The enormous room was dim, hot, and noisy. A live band played on the bandstand, with three singers at the microphones. It all seemed a little unreal. Tasha had half a mind to go back the way she came. She stood against the wall by the main door, trying to get her bearings, watching as more cadets came trickling in.

Jordan appeared in front of her, emerging from the crowd as suddenly as if he'd been transported. "Found you," he said. He was tall enough that the hem of his dress jacket reached his thigh, rather than the knee, and his broad shoulders and narrow waist made it a perfect inverted triangle. His hair was somewhat grown out, and he had taken care to style it.

"You make that uniform look pretty good," Tasha observed.

"Thanks. You don't look half bad yourself." He flashed a smile. "Want to get a drink?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Not even water? It's so hot in here. C'mon." Jordan grabbed her hand and plunged into the crowd. She wanted to shake off his grip, but she was afraid that she'd lose him in the ocean of red tunics and short hair. They resurfaced at a refreshment table, where he ordered sparkling water for her and punch for himself. The server reacted to him with a smile and a few tosses of her hair. Tasha looked from one to the other – Jordan _was _handsome, with a rugged look to his face that saved him from being too pretty. It showed in his prominent bones, and his long straight nose and deep-set eyes whose color changed with the light. He didn't miss her scrutiny, but returned it as he handed her the drink. His eyes did not remain on her face. They both drained their cups at one go.

He offered her his arm. "Wanna dance?"

She rocked on her heels and shook her head no. He tucked her hand in his elbow and guided her towards the band. It was too loud for her to protest, and he somehow found them an empty meter of space. He put one hand on her hip and took her hand in the other. He put his lips next to her ear to speak. "It's easy – just follow my lead." The band began playing an instrumental ballad, and she did find it easy to follow him. They could do little more than spin in a slow, swaying circle. She let the hand on his shoulder travel over to his neck, and touched the hair above his collar with her fingertips. It was soft and thick. He draped her other hand on his neck and held her by the waist. She had an impulse to rest her head on his shoulder, but at the same time, it made her feel sad and scared. He pulled her closer and she did it anyway, her heart racing in her chest. She felt him kiss the top of her head; it increased her sense of unreality. She lifted her head and he pressed his cheek to hers. Her urge to pull away was as strong as her wish to let go and enjoy the moment.

The song ended; she took a half-step back. Jordan kept his hands on her waist. "You look pretty tonight. You did something different – you're wearing lipstick."

Tasha compressed her lips and said nothing.

The band started to play again, and Jordan said, "Good, another slow song." His hands were riding low on her hips now. She could feel how much he liked dancing with her, and her own response warming up her insides. The song was sung by a single male vocalist, and only the piano, bass, and drums accompanied him. The beat was faster; some couples on the dance floor were showing off, but Jordan kept up his easy, swaying steps. He was leading them away from the main group, into the shadows where the couples seemed less intent on following the music. He put his forehead to hers. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes from so tiny a distance. He held her so close that she could feel his heartbeat, skipping as fleetly as hers. She knew what was coming next, and he didn't disappoint. He kissed her, softly at first, but more passionately as the seconds ticked by. She felt the familiar, heady sensation of her hormones running riot, even as a stern voice in a corner of her mind berated her for acting foolishly. But Jordan was a good kisser, and she started to lose herself in the sensation.

He lifted his lips from hers and gave her a confident smile. "Let's get out of here."

Tasha exhaled noisily and shook her head.

"C'mon. Don't pretend you don't want to. Let's go back to my room." The music changed again, a fast song, and the couples on the dance floor broke apart to form loose, larger groups. "C'mon, Tasha. You know you want to." Jordan kissed her again, his hands roaming, eliciting a soft sound from her. He broke away again. "Let's go back to my room."

Tasha drew a shuddering breath and put a hand on his chest. "No." She took in his expression for a moment, and then went on. "You have roommates. Let's go back to my room."

* * *

><p>Tasha was warming up in the gym the next morning when her communicator chirped. "Charles to Yar."<p>

She tapped her comm. badge. "Yar here."

"Where are you?"

"Busy. Yar out." She went back to her jumping jacks. A half hour later, she was sparring in front of the mirror in the workout room. The place was nearly deserted, save for two other die-hard students who were, like her, punching and kicking, with their own heads and bodies as the target. In the reflection of the mirror, she saw Jordan come through the door and walk over to her.

"For someone wearing a communicator, you're awfully hard to locate," he said.

Tasha didn't pause. "Why did you want to find me?"

"I thought we could go out later."

Tasha gave a final jab at the mirror and picked up a towel. "Look, Charles, last night was fun, but I don't have time to date anyone. I have too much work to do. I'm sorry if that disappoints you." She sat down on the mat, wiped her face, and picked up a water bottle.

Jordan looked daunted, but he sat down beside her. "But we can be friends, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, friends do stuff together sometimes, don't they?"

"Yeah."

Jordan gave her a wide smile. "So, what are you doing for lunch today?"

Tasha laughed. "Nothing."

"Okay, so let's get lunch at the wharf together. Real friendly-like."

Tasha smiled back at him, despite herself. "Jeez, don't you ever give up?"

"No. I happen to like a challenge."

"Fine. Lunch. Just friends." Tasha took a swig from her water bottle. "But I have to write a five-page paper tonight."

"No worries. We'll be back by 1400 hours. Plenty of time to write your paper. Maybe a little time for some friendly hanging out." He raised his eyebrows twice.

"Friendly hanging out?" Tasha laughed. "Is that what you call it, Charles?"

He reached over and took her hand. "My first name is Jordan, you know."

"I know." She didn't look at him, but she didn't pull away.


	11. Chapter 11

A rotating staff of lecturers on special topics taught Freshman Seminar. The week that the fourth-class cadets were to experience their first zero gravity simulations, the whole campus was aware. The freshmen passed along stories of claustrophobia in the environmental suits and nausea from the weightlessness, and the upperclassmen did their utmost to fan the flames of paranoia. Tasha paid no attention to the rumors. She figured that no simulation could be as unsettling as real life. Jordan was disrupting the groove that she'd settled into, and muddying the clear waters of her concentration. Three weeks of 'friendly hanging out' was turning into sensory overload; she didn't like the confusing emotions that buffeted her when he was around.

As they left physics class one evening, Jordan reached to take her hand. Tasha violently threw him off.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Hey, don't bite my head off. I just wanted to hold your hand," he replied.

"Why?" she ran down the stairs and sped through the hallway, weaving through the crowd of students.

Jordan caught up with her outside, where a light rain was falling. "What is your problem? Why do you do this all the time?"

"Do what?" Tasha snapped.

"Push back so hard. _All the time._ You never let your guard down, not even for a second." He was following behind her, away from the rush to the freshman hall.

"I thought you liked a challenge," she replied.

"Don't give me that. I'm asking a serious question here." He grabbed her elbow and brought her to a stop. "We've been hanging out for almost a month, and I don't know you any better than I did when I first met you. When are you going to open up to me? When are you going to tell me one thing about yourself?"

They stood and stared at each other, the rain dampening their hair and skin. Tasha could barely understand his question, let alone answer it. Open up to him? The words meant nothing to her.

"Isn't it enough, that I open my –" she began.

"Don't say that." Jordan put up a finger. "If you think that's all I'm interested in, you don't know the first thing about me. I like you because you're different. You're not like other girls."

Tasha wrenched her elbow out of his grip. "You don't have to remind me."

The fog was rolling in, and the lamps on the path all came on at once. The illuminated mist that surrounded the lights looked like a halo of tiny suspended droplets.

Jordan searched her eyes. "Just let me in, Tasha. Give me a chance."

Tasha frowned. "I'm going to the gym, and then I'm going to dinner, and then I'm going home to study. I don't have time for this." She spun on her heel and walked away.

Behind her, Jordan shouted, "Just give me a chance!"

She broke into a run. The people she passed on the path gave her surprised looks, and she felt like a perfect idiot, but she couldn't stop herself from running away.

* * *

><p>The next day was the busiest of her week, and Freshman Seminar was smack in the middle of it. Tasha wolfed down her lunch in record time so that she could arrive extra early to the null grav simulator. The officer on duty handed her an EV suit.<p>

"I can help you suit up if necessary, cadet," he offered.

Tasha took the heavy grey and red suit and the giant helmet from him. "I think I'll take you up on that, sir."

Once she was secured into the complicated garment, she could understand why some cadets complained of claustrophobia. It was eerily silent inside, with the sound of her breathing oddly amplified by the microphone and receiver. The air was at first too noticeably pure, but that went away as she adjusted the oxygen mix within the normal safe range.

Her classmates arrived one by one and suited up, and then joined her in the waiting area. All of their microphones were on, and she was disturbed at having so many voices in her ear, as if they were all inside her helmet with her.

"Did you eat before this?"

"No way. My suitemate spewed chunks during his spacewalk sim. I haven't eaten since last night."

"God, me neither. I'm about to fall over."

"Is anyone else really hot in this thing?"

"I feel like the collar is strangling me."

"Is the crotch supposed to be this tight?"

"Shut up, Zapinski."

Tasha waited silently for class to begin. The officer finally opened the doors, and the cadets walked with difficulty into the simulation chamber. The officer apologized for their trouble. "The suits are rigid because space is a vacuum, cadets. You wouldn't want something flexible to wear in space – the pressure would kill you."

Tasha rolled her eyes. Everyone knew that. Once all of the cadets were inside, the officer secured the doors. The lights went down, and a pleasant, female voice began to speak in the receiver. "Welcome to null-gravity simulation 1-A: Introduction to Extra-Vehicular Activity. In the utility compartment at your left midsection, you will find a tether. Secure the tether to one of the marked posts along the wall."

Tasha followed the directions, as did all of her classmates, save one.

"Hey, has it started? I don't hear anything."

"Turn up your volume, lame brain."

"Zero gravity environment will activate in one minute, with a duration of 30 minutes," the computer voice went on. "This is a free-form activity. There will be a five-minute warning before the end of the simulation. Use the tether to return to a standing position on the floor, marked Alpha. A one-minute and a 30-second warning will sound before the end of the simulation."

"Tether? What tether? Did I miss something?"

A kindhearted classmate helped the cadet in distress. The lights went out completely.

"Zero gravity environment will activate in 10, 9, 8, 7…"

The room filled with stars, and Tasha felt herself drift away from the floor. It was like being underwater. She quickly lost all sense of up or down; there were only the stars and the other grey suits in the inky black. She felt like closing her eyes.

"Oh, I don't feel so good."

"Is anyone else burning up in this thing?"

"Oh, my god, I'm spinning. Someone help me stop spinning."

Tasha turned down the volume on the receiver. The voices of her classmates faded to a murmur. Thirty minutes with nothing to do but float. She forgot about everything else but swimming through the darkness of space.

* * *

><p>The next day, Tasha was crossing the quad to go to the humanities building when she saw a familiar silhouette. "Hey, Maynor, wait up."<p>

The younger girl turned and waited. "Hey, Yar. Long time no see." They set off again together.

"I know. How are you?"

"M'kay. Nervous about the spacewalk sim."

"When's yours?" Tasha asked.

"I have seminar on Fridays. Did you do yours yet?"

"Yeah, yesterday. I liked it. It was fun."

"You're so weird, Yar." It began to drizzle, and both girls put their padds under their arms to keep them dry. "All it does around here is rain, now. I can't wait for fall break. My parents and my sister are coming up to meet me, and then we're all going to beam home to Arizona together. What are you doing for fall break?"

"I'm … um … staying here."

Ishanti looked embarrassed. "I forgot – I'm sorry."

Tasha shrugged.

"Hey, I hear you're dating Jordan Charles. How's that going?"

Tasha set her jaw. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Oh, you know, around. He's really hot. Nice going."

"We're not dating," Tasha said firmly.

"That's not what I heard," Ishanti countered. "Flores is so jealous, she could spit."

Tasha chewed the corner of her lip. "Doesn't anyone have anything better to do around here besides gossip?"

They reached the hall and entered together. "Obviously not. D'you have class at 11?" Ishanti asked.

"Yeah – Creative Writing."

"I have History of the Federation – Borin' Morgan."

"Have fun," Tasha teased.

"Not likely. See you, Yar."

"'Bye." They parted ways, and Tasha wondered if her classmates were just observant, or if Jordan was talkative.

She let the question rest until Saturday, when Jordan almost literally dragged her out of her room to go for a walk in Golden Gate Park. It was beautiful out, a rare sunny respite from the rain, but Tasha couldn't enjoy the verdant scenery or the sounds of the birds in the trees.

"So, what's up your butt today?" Jordan asked.

"Nice," Tasha commented.

"You haven't said two words together for the past hour. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right. You're the worst liar." They ambled along the woodchip-strewn path. Every now and then, the wind would blow a cold sprinkle of water off of the leaves of the trees. "You could just tell me, for once. Try it. You might like it."

Tasha shielded her eyes, as the sun broke through the clouds and the canopy of leaves. "I just feel guilty when I'm not studying."

"You work too hard, Tasha. Fall break is in three days. What are you going to do then?"

"Study."

"You're crazy. You probably have top marks in all your classes. What's the worry?"

Tasha grabbed a branch and released it, shaking off a spray of water. "There's a correlation between studying hard and good grades, you know."

"I know, but you should lighten up a little." Jordan looked up and down the empty path. "Have you ever done it outside?"

"Don't be an idiot," she replied aloud. To herself, she said, _more times than I can count._

"Hey." Jordan stopped and put his arms around her. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her face away. He let her go. "God, you're the toughest nut to crack."

They continued on down the path. "My mom is going to come up for break," he continued nonchalantly. "I wanted you to meet her."

"Why?" Tasha asked brusquely.

Jordan eyed her with caution. "I thought you two could get to know each other. I was hoping you might like each other."

"Doesn't your mom have any friends her own age?" Tasha deadpanned.

Jordan stopped. "Jeez, Yar, would it kill you to stop being a bitch for one minute? I thought it might be nice for my mother to meet my girlfriend."

Tasha kept her face completely neutral. "Oh, yeah? I'd like to meet her, too. Who is she?"

Jordan didn't answer. He merely stood and studied her, his jaw working. Tasha felt as if she'd floated out of her body, and was watching the two of them from the outside.

He finally spoke. "You know, no one can say I didn't try. You just keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing me away, and I'm the ass who keeps coming back for more." He looked for a reaction, but she was as motionless as if she were frozen. "You're so beautiful." He tapped on her chest with one knuckle, hard. "But if you have a heart in there, it's locked up so tight that no one's ever going to find it. And if you ask me, that's a big damn 'if'."

Tasha didn't say a word. She felt disconnected, as if someone had pushed a button and shut down all of her emotions. Jordan waited for her to speak for a few minutes more, and then he went on. "I'm not going to do this anymore. I don't know if you have any regrets, but I sure as hell do. You can find your way back to campus, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Jordan walked away.

Tasha stood unmoving on the forest path, for how long, she wasn't sure, since she still felt out of herself and out of time. It was long enough for the clouds to roll in and obscure the sun, and for the wind to pick up, and for the rain to start falling once more.

By the time she reached the nearest transporter center and beamed back to campus, her hair was drenched and her hands were pruning. She entered her dorm room, peeled off her uniform, and put on pajamas. She got under her covers and brought up the calendar on her padd. Three days until fall break, then two weeks of classes, then final exams, then J-term and winter break, and then second semester. She began counting the weeks in her head, wondering how many of them she would spend completely alone.


	12. Chapter 12 Part Two

Part Two

Tasha returned from her summer assignment on the USS Intrepid, full of the news that was rocketing through Starfleet: the first Klingon cadet had applied and been accepted to the Academy. She had been researching Klingon culture ever since she'd found out, and the more she learned, the more she wanted to know. Klingons were a warrior race, with no tolerance for politeness and a strict devotion to duty and honor that she found commendable. She was sure that she would get along with a cadet who valued a good fight and hated small talk. Besides, the only Klingon cadet was sure to become a celebrated officer, and she wanted to be able to say that she knew him when.

She plotted to meet him on the first day of freshman registration, but she couldn't figure out if he'd be processed in the city with the new alien cadets, or if he'd arrive at the campus transport center. The scuttlebutt was that he lived on Earth with human parents. Most cadets preferred to say their farewells in the city, if they could, away from the prying eyes of their new classmates. Tasha opted to stake out the shuttle at the cultural processing center. She could always beam to campus if she'd guessed wrong. She got there at 0800 hours and watched as the assorted Vulcan, Andorian, Zakdorn, Bolian, and a panoply of other species said their goodbyes to their parents, some stoic and brief, some drawn out and emotional. After a while, she jumped to her feet from the bench where she'd been waiting. A mismatched quartet emerged from the center. Tasha had found her quarry.

A man with a full beard and mustache and a woman with black hair piled up on her head were taking their leave of two tall boys, one human, one Klingon. The father and mother alternated between hugging and kissing their sons and hugging each other, giving advice that Tasha was too far away to hear but could recognize by the accompanying gestures, and falling on the boys' necks with hugs and kisses again. Finally, the Klingon son roared, "Enough!" so loudly that it carried to Tasha's vantage point. With one last embrace, the parents relinquished their children, and both boys walked to the shuttle.

Tasha jogged over to intercept them. She caught up with them just as the human boy was about to step aboard.

She addressed the Klingon. "NuqneH."

The human cadet laughed and stepped back down. Tasha looked from one to the other. "Did I say it wrong? I thought it was Klingon for 'hello'."

"There is no word in Klingon for hello," the black haired human explained. "You just asked my brother, 'what do you want?'"

"Oh. Sorry. I'm Cadet Third Class Tasha Yar."

"Nikolai Rozhenko." He held out his hand.

She shook it. "And you are?"

"Worf," the Klingon said curtly.

"Yar. You know, you don't have to take the shuttle to campus."

"No?" Nikolai looked at his brother.

"No. You can beam straight there from one of the city transport centers," Tasha went on.

Worf bristled. "The officer in the processing center told us to take the shuttle."

"I know. That's 'cause they're afraid you'll get lost if you try to find the freshman hall on your own. But I can show you where it is."

Worf gave her a look of mistrust that was outright hostile.

"Believe me – they don't call roll on the shuttle. One leaves every 10 minutes. It's more efficient to beam in, unless you want to take the scenic route," Tasha said.

Worf folded his arms. "Scenery is irrelevant to a warrior."

"Then follow me. We'll be there in two shakes." Tasha led them away from the shuttle.

"So, who are you, our personal welcoming committee?" Nikolai asked.

"No. To be honest, I've never met a Klingon before. I was curious about you, Worf."

Worf growled in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

"Have you chosen majors yet?" Tasha asked.

"No, I'm undecided," answered Nikolai.

"Command Ops," replied Worf.

"Wow. Can you just imagine being the first Klingon captain in the UFP? I'm a Weapons and Tactical major," Tasha said.

"You?" Nikolai seemed skeptical. "You're much too pretty to be a security officer."

Tasha stopped short, causing him to almost run into her. Her friendly demeanor dropped. "You care to rephrase that, freshie?"

Nikolai swallowed hard, and Worf looked at her with interest. "What I meant to say was, I'm sure you'll be very good at your job."

"I'm sure." Tasha turned and strode off again.

Nikolai lagged behind and elbowed his brother. "Touchy," he said under his breath.

Worf narrowed his eyes and lengthened his stride to catch up with Tasha.


	13. Chapter 13

Tasha entered the workout room for Intermediate Hand-to-Hand Combat ten minutes before the first class was scheduled to begin. She was stretching out on the mat in the front of the room when Worf entered. She got to her feet with a showy forward roll. "Worf! Are you in the right class? Basic Hand-to-Hand is two doors down."

"I am in the correct room," he replied.

"I can't believe we have a class together. This is great! But how come you're not in Basic?" asked Tasha.

"Proficiency exam."

Tasha liked Worf's taciturnity. It was refreshingly alien. She nodded and went back to her stretches. Their classmates began to fill the room. The instructor did not stand out at first, being as short and slight as many of the cadets, but at 0800 hours, he addressed them from the front of the room. "Good morning, class. I'm Professor Fujihito. Please choose a partner. We begin the unit with joint locks and counterlocks."

Tasha looked at Worf questioningly. He gave her a curt nod. The teacher silently chose two students and began the demonstration. Tasha watched carefully. His lesson was quick and efficient, and demanded all of her concentration. She noticed that the pace was faster than it had been the year before. Fujihito had been on the faculty panel at their final exams – she wondered if he had memorized all of their names then, as he hadn't even bothered with introductions.

"Questions?" Prof. Fujihito asked. No one raised a hand. "Begin practice."

Tasha turned to Worf with a glint in her eye. "Attack or defend?"

"Defend." Worf had no interest in harming the slender blond human female on the first day of class. He had noticed the fearful looks that the other students had been giving him. He was determined to behave with honor.

Tasha attacked him without another word. She was quick and forceful, and he was having difficulty applying the lock to her as she twisted her limbs out of the way. In the end, she applied it to him. She released him.

"Try again?" She had an exhilarated smile on her face that, for some reason, did not offend the Klingon. There was no mockery in that smile.

"You will not catch me off guard again, Cadet Yar," Worf replied.

When she attacked this time, he did not hold back, and had her in the lock in a matter of seconds. Worf brought her down to the mat and released her.

"Switch?" The smile had not left Tasha's face. She stood and took up the defensive posture.

Worf had a moment of hesitation; she looked fragile, despite her severe haircut and the obvious relish she took in the lesson. He again used restraint, and Tasha had him on the mat in seconds. She let him go. "D'you wanna try that for real? Won't learn anything if you keep playing around." Tasha held the defensive posture, wiggling her fingers in anticipation.

Worf got to his feet and charged her with a low growl. She sidestepped him and twisted his arms again, and then released him quickly. "That's more like it. Switch?"

Their classmates gave them a wide berth. Worf couldn't completely suppress the snarls coming from his throat as they practiced the lock again and again, but Tasha seemed unphased. When the professor ordered them to change partners, she looked disappointed. They turned around to find their classmates assiduously avoiding eye contact. When all of the other pairs in the room had changed save for them, Tasha shrugged and got ready to work again.

"Cadets, I expect my orders to be obeyed," Fujihito said quietly.

The two students closest to Tasha and Worf blanched, but approached them. A human girl stood by Tasha, while a Bolian male looked up at Worf with obvious trepidation.

"Just try not to break my fingers this time, Yar," said the female cadet.

"You know I didn't break anything, Shapiro. It was just a sprain, and it was an accident," Tasha retorted.

Worf turned away from the human girls and looked over his Bolian classmate, who was taking steady, deep breaths through his nose. "Attack or defend?" asked Worf.

The cadet opened his mouth, but all that came out was a muted squeak. He swallowed hard and tried again. "You pick."

Tasha threw Worf a smile. He decided to go back to his original plan to show restraint with his classmates.

* * *

><p>Tasha and Worf walked out of the workout room together.<p>

"So, what did you think of your first Academy class?" Tasha asked.

"Tame," Worf answered.

"I know! Everyone is afraid of hurting someone or getting hurt in this group. I like the teacher, though."

"Agreed."

They walked outside, where a dense fog was settling low to the ground.

"You have a gracefulness to your movements that I didn't expect, Worf."

"As do you."

"It's my Aikido training," Tasha hazarded.

"Mok'bara," Worf explained succinctly.

"What's that?"

"A Klingon form of martial art. What is Aikido?"

"An earth form, a defensive one. Maybe you could teach me …" she hesitated on the foreign word. "Mok'bara."

Worf looked down at her. "We could trade lessons."

Tasha smiled. "That'd be perfect. What do you have next?"

Worf consulted his padd. "History of the Federation."

"Oh, too bad. Borin' Morgan. I have Transporter Theory and Applications at 1100. Want to meet me at the gym tonight – say, 1900 hours?"

Worf considered briefly. "Yes."

"Good. See you then. I'm going to go get breakfast. I live in Cochrane Hall."

"An upperclassman dorm?" Worf asked.

"Yeah. It's a long story. See ya." Tasha walked away. Worf continued on to the freshman hall.

The freshman mess was bursting with hundreds of cadets during the class break. The crowd parted wherever Worf walked, leaving an eddy of stares and whispers around him. Worf had experienced such treatment from humans before. He did not know if it stemmed from his appearance or the fact that Klingons had been the enemies of the Federation in the recent past. It did not bother him overmuch. He had been an alien in a foreign land for most of his life; the sense of isolation was familiar to him.

Worf picked up a tray and stood in line. He was accustomed to human cuisine – mostly bland and lifeless to his taste. He could have replicated a Klingon dish in his room – he had begun programming it with the molecular recipes of his favorite dishes from the first day – but he knew the importance that humans placed on socializing during meals.

His brother called to him as Worf emerged from the line. "Worf! Over here!"

Worf set his tray down and sat next to Nikolai, who was at a table with two female cadets. "My brother, Worf. This is Sheila, and this is Terry."

"Hi," the girls said shyly.

"It is customary to address a Starfleet cadet by the family name," Worf pointed out. He set to his breakfast.

"Don't be fooled by anything you've heard – Klingons are big on etiquette," Nikolai said jovially.

"Did you reach your first class in time, brother?" Worf asked.

Nikolai flickered a glance at their tablemates. "Five minutes late. The professor acted like I'd committed treason. He wouldn't shut up about it."

Worf glared at him. "I warned you last night that you wouldn't awaken in time if you stayed up so late. You have made an unfavorable first impression on a Starfleet officer."

"There's always tomorrow." Nikolai smiled at the young women. "Would you two care to see our room? We have some fascinating Klingon weapons that I'd love to show you."

They giggled. "Maybe some other time," said Terry.

"How about Friday, at seven?" offered Nikolai.

"We're on the 24-hour clock in Starfleet, Rozhenko," Sheila admonished.

"Ah, but there's poetry to the 12-hour clock! Meet me at seven, and I'll show you heaven," Nikolai sang.

The girls laughed again. "We have sim lab at 1000 hours. Gotta go." They picked up their trays. "Nice meeting you, Worf."

He gave them one short nod. "Nikolai, what would our father say if he saw your behavior? We are no longer in grammar school."

"Oh, don't start, Worf. I'm just having fun. You know – that thing that dies when you enter a room." Nikolai got up and picked up his tray.

"We have History of the UFP at 1100 hours, brother. Do not be late," cautioned Worf.

"Relax – it's a lecture class. No one will even notice if I'm there or not." Three female cadets passed by, carrying empty trays. "Ladies! Let me help you with those!" Nikolai hurried to catch up with them. "You deserve to be treated like a princess, with a face like that. My name's Nikolai, what's yours?" He moved out of earshot, and Worf went back to his breakfast.

* * *

><p>It was the first Monday evening of the semester, and on his way to the athletic center through the twilight fog, Worf passed several signs advertising various social functions, along with groups of cadets joyfully reuniting. The gym was nearly deserted. He found Cadet Yar working out alone in front of the mirrored wall. She stopped when she saw him.<p>

"You remembered! I was afraid you would've gotten sucked into one of those mixers tonight," Tasha greeted him.

"No," Worf replied.

"Do you want to warm up before we start?" she asked.

Worf's lip curled back to reveal a few jagged teeth. "A Klingon's blood boils like the volcanoes of the homeworld. I need no 'warm-up'."

Tasha's bravado faltered slightly at this. "Umm…okay. Why don't you start? Aikido is sort of hard to explain."

Worf grunted his assent and began in the first posture. Tasha watched him without speaking. Her mouth fell open at one point as she studied his motions. Her muscles twitched with the urge to mimic him, but she waited until he had completed the whole form. She felt like applauding at the end. "That was beautiful. It looked like t'ai chi."

"I have heard it likened so before," Worf replied.

"Can I try it with you, side by side?" asked Tasha.

Worf looked skeptical, but showed his agreement by taking the first posture once more. Tasha aped him, and followed him surprisingly well, though he did go through the form more slowly than he had the first time. They brought their hands down to center in the last posture, and Worf turned to face Tasha.

"Very good. You have never seen Mok'bara before?"

"No, but I scored in the 99th percentile in kinesthetic awareness," Tasha replied proudly.

"We will go through it again. You must mirror my movements this time. Face me." Worf spoke with a finality that brooked no dissent. It was a greater challenge, but Tasha performed even better than she had the first time. They were silent for several moments when they finished.

"I feel calm when I'm doing it," Tasha said, finally ending the contemplative moment. "It's not often that I can say that."

"It is a form of meditation," Worf explained.

"Can we do it again?" asked Tasha.

"Yes. We shall both face the mirror this time." They began again, Tasha's eyes on the tall, dark warrior beside her.

She was glowing by their tenth time through the form. "It's slow, but it takes a lot of energy," Tasha commented, as she stopped to dry her face with a towel.

"Yes. I must leave now to work on my assignments," Worf said without preamble.

"I should probably go, too." Tasha threw her towel in a basket of dirty linen and followed Worf to the exit.

The fog had not dispersed, and it was a ghostly swirl around their legs as they walked the manicured paths. "So, how do you like your roommates?" Tasha asked.

"I room with Nikolai. My suitemates have so far been … nervous."

Tasha nodded. "I have a single. It makes it easier to get work done."

"You mentioned that you live in an upperclassman dorm."

Tasha breathed out a humorless laugh. "Yeah. I'm sure anyone will tell you the screwed-up version of the reason, if you ask."

"My classmates have not been eager to talk to me as yet," Worf said, "Except for you and my brother."

"You probably make them nervous," Tasha said. "I make them nervous, too."

"You? Why?" In his deep voice, Worf's questions sounded more like demands.

Tasha stopped walking. She had told herself that she would turn over a new leaf and put the truth out there for anyone to see. Let the chips fall where they may. But thinking about it was different from being faced with the reality of speaking about her past. She went for it, nonetheless. "I'm human, but I'm not from Earth."

Worf did not answer. He waited silently for her to continue. She forged on. "I'm from Turkana IV. I was rescued by Starfleet officers five years ago. It's been hard to adjust to life here, but I've tried my best." It was strange to just say it aloud, and Tasha felt an anticlimactic hollowness – it hadn't been at all difficult to let the words come out.

Worf's expression had not changed. "My parents were murdered by Romulans during the Khitomer massacre. I was left for dead. My human father, a chief petty officer, found me and adopted me as his son."

Tasha was profoundly stirred. "You were rescued by Starfleet? And your parents were murdered?"

"Yes. I watched them die," Worf replied.

For an instant, Tasha experienced a sense of déjà vu. The deep fog and silent night enhanced the otherworldly sensation. "I never knew my parents. I was abandoned when I was five. I raised myself as best I could on the streets of the colony."

Worf looked into her eyes. He seemed to be searching for something. He gave no indication if he found what he was looking for or not. "You must tell me more."

Tasha nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think I will."


	14. Chapter 14

Worf and Tasha fell into the habit of working out together every evening. Tasha looked forward to it; it gave her a good reason to leave the quiet of her room. Worf also appreciated having an excuse to escape his suite every night.

He was preparing to leave as Nikolai and a Lumarian cadet cuddled together on one of the loveseats in the living room. Nikolai was tickling her, and she was giggling incessantly. Worf consciously unclenched his fists as he walked through and ordered a liquid protein supplement from the replicator.

"Try harder! I'm sure you could read my thoughts if you really tried," Nikolai teased.

"Don't be silly. My people are only telepathic with each other," she replied.

He held her shoulders and put his nose next to hers. "Go on. I bet you can tell what I'm thinking."

Behind them, Worf rolled his eyes.

"That wouldn't be telepathy, Rozhenko," she said, and burst into another fit of giggles as he tickled her again.

"I am leaving, brother," Worf announced.

"Oh, I should go, too. I have so much homework to do," the Lumarian added.

"No, stay – we'll have the room to ourselves," Nikolai wheedled.

Worf walked out and slammed the door behind him. He was annoyed that his brother treated the Academy like an oversized dating pool, and that there was never any peace to be found in their room, day or night. In one week, Nikolai had formed a large acquaintance, and their door was open to a constant influx of cadets looking to waste a few minutes listening to his outrageous stories or watching him perform for the women. Their suitemates, two Tanugan Quantum Mechanics majors, kept their connecting door closed at all times. Worf had no such refuge from his brother's foolishness.

The days were long, but the fog obscured the passage of time – dusk might as well have been mid-morning under the opaque grey sky. Worf espied Tasha on the path ahead of him, and called out to her. She turned and waited for him, and they continued on together.

"What do you want to work on tonight?" Tasha asked.

"The lock flow we learned this morning. It will take many repetitions to commit the sequence to memory," Worf replied.

"Perfect. Prof. Kwon said last year that we'll have learned 150 joint locks by the time we graduate. Isn't that amazing? Can you imagine 150 locks in one combo? That would be some fight."

Worf nodded. Tasha's happy expression suddenly turned anxious. Worf followed her sightline down the path ahead of them. "What is it?"

A third- and a fourth-class cadet were approaching them. The sophomore was a tall human male, the freshman a statuesque blond female. The pulchritude of the two humans was noticeable, even to Worf.

Tasha raised her hand in a wave as Jordan neared, but dropped the gesture, when he pretended not to see her as he passed. She looked back at him over her shoulder, and caught him looking back at her. His eyes went right through her.

"You'd think he'd've gotten past it by now," Tasha mumbled.

"Explain."

"Cadet Charles – we hung out last year. It didn't end well when we broke it off. He hasn't spoken to me since."

Worf took a look behind them. "You could do better," he said.

Tasha looked up at Worf. Was he offering sympathy? A compliment?

"He looked like an arrogant ghu qoH," Worf went on.

"Thanks, Worf. I don't know what you said, but thanks."

They walked over a footbridge above a pond filled with orange and white carp.

"Is it wise to engage in romantic relations here?" Worf asked.

"No, it's not wise. It's stupid, and to be avoided at all costs," Tasha replied ruefully.

"I agree. If only I could convince my brother of the same."

Tasha raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

* * *

><p>The emergence of the sun the next morning ended a week of relentless foggy weather. Like many of her classmates, Tasha was outside, sitting under the shade of an enormous elm tree with a padd in hand. She occasionally looked up to watch the freshmen drill on the parade grounds. Sometimes, she would catch a glimpse of Worf, tall and straight as the trunk she leaned against, proud and precise in his movements. A shadow fell over her, and Tasha looked up to see the pretty face of her former suitemate.<p>

"Hey, Saj."

"Hey, Yar. How's the first week been?"

"Good. You?"

"Good." Saj sat down beside her. The drill completed, the freshmen cadets began to disperse. Tasha waved her arm until she caught Worf's eye. He headed her way.

"The new Klingon cadet? You know him?" Saj asked.

Tasha nodded. "His name's Worf. I think we've hit it off."

Saj looked at her with incredulity. "He scares the bejeezus out of me. I've never seen him smile."

Tasha shrugged. She saw Nikolai stop Worf and share a brief, gestured conversation with him that she couldn't hear. Both cadets came over to them. "I'll introduce you. There's no reason to be scared of him."

"Yeah, except that he could probably crush me with one hand."

"C'mon, Saj. So can Vulcans. They're not scary."

"I know. But they don't look like they actually want to do it, all the time."

Worf and Nikolai approached, and Tasha got to her feet. "Hey, Worf, I'd like you to meet Saj."

She stood up and took Worf's proffered hand hesitantly.

"Nice to meet you," Worf said.

Saj gulped. "Likewise."

Nikolai put his hand on her arm and insinuated himself between Saj and his brother. "I'm Nikolai Rozhenko. I didn't catch your first name…"

"I didn't say it, freshie," Saj replied. "See you later, Yar. Nice to meet you both." She walked away with a toss of her long braid.

"Who was that exquisite creature?" Nikolai asked.

Tasha rolled her eyes. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Rozhenko. Don't even bother."

"She's so beautiful! She doesn't even seem real. Excuse me." He set off after Saj at a jog.

"What's with your brother?" Tasha asked.

"A question I've pondered for years," Worf replied.

Tasha sat back down under the elm tree, and Worf squatted, facing her. "I've been reading the Academy Journal," Tasha said, picking her padd up off the ground.

"What for?"

"I have a question for you, if I can find what I'm looking for." She swiped her finger across the surface of the padd. "Hey, listen to this: 'Lt. First Class Data, the only known sentient android in the universe, was decorated with the Medal of Honor at a ceremony on Rigel IV.' Isn't that something?"

"Yes."

"There's a picture." She tapped the screen to enlarge it. "Hmph. He's cute."

"He is a machine, like the robots my brother played with as a child," Worf said.

"It says here that he saved 6000 colonists along with his ship. He's a hero, Worf."

She received a low growl in response. She was still examining the picture. "He's _really _cute."

"I find your taste in men questionable, Cadet Yar."

"You may be right. I'm just sayin'." She tapped the picture to close it and went back to scrolling through the student newspaper. "Here it is – team tryouts. Worf, do you play Parrises Squares?"

"Yes."

"I was thinking of going out for the team this year."

Worf looked at her without responding.

"It says trial games are next Wednesday and Thursday, tryouts are Friday, and final cuts on Saturday."

"Hmmm." Worf's heavy brows knit together.

"I know, I know. I didn't try out my freshman year because I didn't think I could handle it. Forget I asked."

Worf took a palm padd out of his pocket. He tapped at the surface for a minute. "There is enough time in my schedule."

"For the tryouts? Great! Do you want to practice with me today?"

"To be a member of the team."

Tasha was taken aback. "That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think? A lot of cadets try out for those eight spots. I think they only graduated two people off last year's team. The competition will be tough."

Worf's eyes narrowed, and his face took on an expression that Tasha had to admit looked pretty scary, her admonition to Saj notwithstanding. "I will be victorious," he rumbled.

_A/N Props to BatMonkey81 for the idea as to how to sneak Data into this story. D/T 4eva!_


	15. Chapter 15

Tasha had reserved a holosuite for two hours. It had been almost three years since she'd played the game – she wanted an hour to herself before Worf joined her for practice. She was outfitted in her old boarding school uniform and pads. She hadn't realized how small it had gotten, and tight under the arms, but she would have time to replicate a new one before the tryouts.

"Computer: create Parrises Squares stage, tournament size. Run in practice mode."

The black walls and yellow projectors were replaced with the massive stage and a scoreboard. Tasha gave her ion mallet a practice swing and powered it on with a press of her thumb. It came to life with a hum.

"Computer: home color – blue. Enemy color – yellow." The four semicircular wickets that she could see all lit up in neon blue.

Tasha walked up the entry ramp and made a sharp right turn to the bottom square, something she would never do during a game. The initial entry was always taken at a run, but she wanted to slowly re-familiarize herself with the playing field. The ramp to the second square led straight up from the first square, with a safety net on the right and the wall of the third ramp on the left. The bottommost and second wicket faced each other on a long diagonal, with a good 15 meters between them. During the game, that distance would feel much longer. The second square was two meters off the ground, with safety nets on the exposed side and back. Tasha made a sharp left and walked up the ramp to the third square. Each square was a meter higher than the previous one, and at three meters up, Tasha felt the primeval fear of heights kick in. The last right turn, the last home ramp, and she was standing on the top square, four meters up. There were safety nets on either side of the top square, but it was still a long way to fall down either ramp. Ahead of her were the two top wickets, one glowing blue, the other yellow. Between them hovered the ball, glowing bright silver. Tasha raised her ion mallet to it, and the ball zipped into the curved end and instantly changed color to blue.

She walked down the enemy ramp, made a sharp left to the third square, down the next ramp, a sharp right to the second square, and walked straight ahead down the ramp to the bottommost enemy square, a meter off the ground. She pointed her ion mallet at the yellow wicket and gave the control pad two quick squeezes with her thumb to reverse the charge. The mallet propelled the ball into the wicket. The home side of the scoreboard changed to 2. She squeezed the mallet twice to reverse the charge again, and the ball zoomed back into the curved end. She couldn't do that during a game, she knew; the ball had to be rebounded by a different player, but she was practicing alone, and so the foul buzzer didn't sound. She walked straight up the ramp to the second wicket and zipped the ball in and out; the scoreboard changed to 3-0. She turned and walked up the ramp to the third wicket. Shooting the ball made it 4-0. She turned and jogged up the last ramp and shot the ball for a perfect run-up. The score was 6-0.

"Computer: reset game." The ball disappeared and reappeared between the top wickets, glowing neutral silver again. Tasha jogged down the home side and did a few leg stretches, standing on the floor in front of the entry ramp. She took a deep breath and ran up the stage as fast as she could, and then down the enemy side. She turned and ran up and down again, taking the turns as tightly as she could manage. Parrises Squares was hard on the legs: it was easy to turn an ankle or tear a ligament, and the ramps were murder on the shins and calves. She would need to drill many more times on the playing stage before her muscles would become accustomed to the stress.

"Computer, create a home team forward."

A human appeared in front of Tasha at the edge of the onramp. Tall, long legs, long muscles. There was only one problem.

"Let's go with an all-female team, computer. Just like boarding school."

The male forward vanished and was replaced by a lanky girl. The forward covered the most distance of all of the players. Every time the ball changed possession, and every time the top wicket was scored, the bottom wicket had to score before any other. It was the forward's job to run the ball there. The forward also tended to be the highest scorer, since the top and bottom wickets were each worth two points.

"Computer, create home team guard."

The female player that appeared reminded Tasha of one of her old teammates: average height, stocky, with a low center of gravity. The guard's job was to protect the forward and the center, either of whom could be body-checked or held whenever she had possession of the ball. The guard was also the rebound, so some dexterity was called for.

Tasha would play center. It was her favorite position. Her job was to take the ball from the rebound and score on the middle wickets. As long as the bottom wicket had been scored, there was no limit to the number of times the ball could be shot into the center wickets. They were worth one point each, but those points would rack up if the center got a good rhythm going with the guard.

"Computer, create home team defender."

The last girl was built like a brick wall. She was a straight line from her shoulders to her hips. The defender's job was to keep the enemy team from scoring on the bottom wicket. She could also act as a guard, but she lived on the bottom square like a troll under a bridge. The defender could steal the ball and pass it, but wasn't expected to leave the home side, and so could not score points. Statistics for the defender were counted on assists.

"Computer, create enemy team."

A whirr told Tasha that the computer had complied. The stage hid the two teams from each other until they met at the top square. Tasha always tried to catch a glimpse of the opposing team before they hit the stage. It helped to take the element of surprise out of the first play.

"Run challenge mode."

Three boops went off a second apart, and then the starting buzzer sounded. The players ran onto the stage in order: first the forward, then the guard, then the center, and lastly the defender, who took up position on the bottom square, blocking the wicket with her body. The home and enemy forwards reached the top square, and Tasha got her first look at the other team. The enemy forward captured the ball in her ion mallet, and it instantly turned yellow. She led the charge into home territory, where Tasha and the guard were the first line of defense. Tasha raised her ion mallet and grinned. It was all coming back to her, like she'd last played just yesterday.

* * *

><p>Worf was waiting for her when Tasha arrived at the sports arena for the first day of trial games. They didn't talk as they waited their turn in line. As Tasha had predicted, a large number of cadets had shown up for tryouts.<p>

Their turn finally came. A single officer sat behind a table, processing everyone in the long line. "How many?" he asked.

"Two," Tasha answered.

"Report to Arena 2-C after you get changed. You'll be practicing in mixed teams. Players sub out after every 10 points scored. Names?"

"Every 10 points?" Tasha looked from Worf to the officer. "That might take five minutes. We don't get to play full games?"

"You rotate. We have a lot of students who need practice time. You don't play full games unless you sign in with a team of four."

Tasha turned to look down the line that stretched back to the front entrance. There was one clear disadvantage to being an island unto oneself at the Academy: she didn't see anyone that she could ask to join them.

She watched as six students entered the arena as a group. The chatter in the room died away as they walked past the line, straight to the registration table. The students reacted with annoyance and awe as the six passed by.

"Who are they?" asked Worf.

"They are the remains of last year's Parrises Squares team," the officer replied. He waved them forward.

"Our competition," Worf said.

Both Tasha and the officer gave him a look at this.

A tall senior with a peaches-and-cream complexion and red curls tortured into an asymmetrical wedge came to the front of the line. "Coach Allen."

"Hey, Peg. How are you splitting up?"

At a look from the tall redhead, the other five students separated into groups of three and two. "Bobby, Jackson, and Warren are with me." Peg spoke with a British accent. Tasha had only heard one once or twice before, but she liked the sound of it.

"Drexel and Park, report to Arena 2-C after you get changed," Coach Allen ordered.

"You have insufficient numbers to form a team," Worf said to the pair.

The two looked at each other. The young woman spoke. "You can count."

"We can join you," Worf went on, indicating Tasha with a jerk of his head.

The pair looked over at Peg. She sized Worf up with a look that might have been intimidating, if she hadn't been a head shorter than him.

"You're a freshman," Peg said.

"_You _can count," Worf replied.

The redhead shrugged. "Hell if I care. It's up to you, Park."

The black-haired girl shrugged back. "No skin off my nose. It means we can play in the main arena right away."

Peg nodded to the coach. "Sign 'em up together."

"Whatever you say, Peg. Names?"

Worf gave Tasha a triumphant look. She swallowed her laughter and turned back to the coach.

* * *

><p>Tasha dropped her hard octagonal duffel bag on a bench in the women's locker room, where several cadets were already changing. Her new teammate was right beside her.<p>

"I've seen you in Cochrane," said Park.

Tasha nodded wordlessly. The other girl put her palm against the panel beside an open locker. A female voice said, "Identify Park, Jeon Yee." The door sprang open.

Tasha chose a vacant locker and pressed her hand to the panel. "Identify Yar, Natasha."

"I know who you are," Park said. "You're the one who almost killed her roommates last year, and got off scot-free."

Tasha sat down on the bench and started taking off her boots. "That'd be me."

Both girls stripped off their uniforms and pulled on their skintight sports gear. Park was thinner than Tasha, but with clearly defined muscles on her bony frame. "I bet you think you're pretty tough."

Tasha didn't respond. She'd heard more belligerent lines when she was practically a baby.

Park grabbed her helmet and ion mallet and slammed the locker door shut. "Just try to keep up."

Tasha watched her strut out of the room. She slid an elbow pad over her wrist and adjusted it on her arm. "I'll try," she said with a smile.

* * *

><p>The main arena had four Parrises Squares stages and 32 keyed-up cadets waiting to use them. A gruff male voice boomed over the loudspeaker, barking out suggestions that sounded like orders. "And remember, there are two days of trial games, people. Asst. Coach Allen and I will be watching you both days, so if you wear yourself out so's you can't get outta bed tomorrow, that'll reflect poorly on you. Pace yourselves! You're playing in teams, but you'll be evaluated individually. And these are just the trials – we still have skills and drills on Friday. So don't kill each other out there!"<p>

Tasha looked up at Worf, who had tied his long hair into a braid and looked ready for battle in his red suit and black pads. She noted that he indeed looked as if he planned to kill someone.

"You've been matched up for your first bouts. Be good sportsmen. The clock starts with the buzzer. Good luck to all of you! Willoughby out."

Tasha and Worf looked over their new teammates. Park returned their scrutiny with no warmth in her black eyes. She had secured her short hair into a miniscule ponytail that stuck out at a 95-degree angle from the back of her head. She was short-waisted, and her legs seemed to start just under her armpits. Drexel was tall and wide, with a shaved head and a chin that disappeared into his neck with little demarcation. Tasha guessed that he would play defense.

"Order for the first game?" she asked Park.

"Forward, Guard," she answered, pointing to herself and then Drexel, "Center, Defender." She indicated Tasha and Worf in turn.

"Good," Worf said.

"That's just how I would've done it," Tasha agreed.

Park gave a noncommittal grunt. She strapped on her helmet, and the other three followed suit.

"Did you get a look at the other team?" Tasha asked.

"Yeah. They tried out together last year. Eliminated in the final cuts," Park replied.

"So, good, but not as good as you two?" Tasha got the slightest twitch of a smile from Park.

The referee zoomed over on a hover disc. "Your team ready?" he asked the group.

They all switched their ion mallets on. "Ready," Park replied. The ref zoomed away to the other side of the stage.

Tasha caught Worf's eye and brought her hands together to the center of her body, the mallet between her palms. Worf's eyes lit up and he performed the last pose of the Mok'bara for her. Park cocked an eyebrow at them.

Three boops sounded on the loudspeaker, and then the starting buzzer went off. The arena resounded with the yells of the cadets as they ran up the onramps to start the games.


	16. Chapter 16

The buzzer went off for half time. Tasha unstrapped her helmet and pulled it off of her sweaty head. She sat down on a bench in the spectator box nearby. Worf sat down beside her and took off his helmet.

"You are in good form, Cadet Yar," he said.

"Ditto." She was still catching her breath.

Park and Drexel walked over to them, carrying their helmets and mallets. The expressions on their faces had changed after two fifteen-minute quarters. "Not too shabby," Park said.

"You take too many risks," Tasha returned. "You can't just play offensively. The ball turned over too many times."

Park narrowed her eyes at her. "Save the advice."

"She's right." Drexel spoke for the first time. Even on the playing stage, he'd used grunts and gestures more than words. "You make it hard on the defense. I can't keep running up and down."

"You do realize we're killing them, right? 52-34," Park retorted.

Drexel dropped his mallet and mopped his shiny shaved head with a towel. "We could still play better."

The remaining quartet of the previous year's team was heading over to them. Tasha elbowed Worf. He looked up at them and back at her.

"How's your new teammates, Park?" Peg asked. Her red curls had been smashed into a tragic shape by her helmet.

Park gave Worf and Tasha a grudging look. "They're good."

"Really. How serendipitous. Do you wanna switch up? We're done with our game."

"So soon?" asked Tasha.

Peg smirked. "Mercy rule. There's a 40-point spread."

"No, we'll stick with this team," Park said.

"Well." Peg gave Tasha and Worf another once over. "You must be good."

"I'm sure you'll find out when we play each other," Park said.

A look passed between Peg and Park that was nakedly competitive. "Still after my job, I see. I admire your persistence," Peg rejoined.

"It's not your job this year yet, Miller," Park replied.

Drexel sat down next to Worf. "Team captain," he said out of the side of his mouth.

The cadet next to Peg spoke up. "So, what's your name, big guy?" He was tall and muscular, with walnut-colored skin and shoulder-length braids held back by a band.

"Worf."

"Jackson." Their handshake looked like two massive slabs of meat coming together.

One of the other players gave Peg a bored look. "I'm gonna go grab a snack," he said.

"Get a look at the other teams while you're at it, Warren," she replied.

"All right." He sauntered away.

"Are you a Command Ops major?" Tasha asked.

"Yeh," Peg answered. "Why?"

"You like giving orders," Tasha went on.

The last member of Peg's team laughed. He was lanky and pale, with bony, outsized features and nondescript brown hair that was prematurely receding at the temples. He had a goofy laugh. "The sad thing is, we all like taking orders from her. Either she's going to make a great captain, or a kick-ass dominatrix."

"Stuff it, Bobby," said Peg.

He held out his hand to Tasha and Worf in turn. "Roberts," he introduced himself. "You can call me Bobby. Everyone does."

"What's your first name? Are you Robert Roberts or something?" Tasha asked.

"That's classified. If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," Bobby replied.

Worf looked him up and down. "Unlikely."

"C'mon, it's just a name," said Tasha.

"So you say. What's your first name?"

"Natasha."

"Oh, yeah? Say 'Moose and Squirrel' for me."

"What?"

Bobby shook his head. "Never mind. An ancient joke. My parents are into old animated media."

Tasha smiled with uncertainty. "What position do you play?"

"Center."

"So do I.''

"Hmm. Guess we're fighting for the same spot. May the best man named Roberts win."

Tasha's smile grew a little wider. Park rolled her eyes. "Break's almost over," she said.

"Have fun," said Bobby.

Four of them grabbed their helmets and mallets and went back to the playing stage.

* * *

><p>Tasha was exhausted when she got back to her room that night. They had won both of their bouts, the second more easily than the first. She still had at least an hour of homework to do before she could turn in for the night. She hoped that she hadn't taken on too much. She remembered Counselor Lver's advice about not overburdening herself.<p>

She thought back on the trial games. By the end, the other players in the arena were looking at her differently. With respect. Not Worf – he'd expected her to succeed from the start. Tasha smiled to herself and flopped onto her bed with a PADD.

* * *

><p>Worf returned to his dorm to find his front door wide open and music blaring out into the hall. A group of at least ten cadets were spread throughout the bedroom and living room, lounging on the furniture and showing off dance moves in the space between his and Nikolai's bunks.<p>

Worf stood framed in the doorway, his eyes blazing and his jaw working. No one seemed to take note of his entrance. A growl started in the back of his throat. It got louder as he looked from the cadets sprawling on his bed with their boots on, to the ones gyrating on the linoleum tile and snuggling on the loveseats. The growl turned into a roar.

"GET OUT!"

The music stopped abruptly. The freshmen partiers took one look at Worf and made hasty exits. Worf stood aside to let them pass, glowering at each in turn. When the room had emptied out, there was still no sign of his brother.

"NIKOLAI!" Worf thundered.

Past the living room, the bathroom door opened, and Nikolai emerged with a shamefaced Ktarian girl in civilian clothes. He was fastening the belt of his uniform. "Worf! You're home."

"Have you taken leave of your senses, Brother? It is the middle of the week!"

Nikolai winked at the young woman and whispered in her ear. He patted her bottom and she scurried out of the room, sidling past Worf with a fearful look. "An impromptu get-together. These things happen spontaneously – they can't be anticipated or controlled."

"Untrue. If you controlled your own behavior, such things would not happen," Worf replied.

Nikolai stood toe-to-toe with him. 'What are you going to do? Report me?"

"First-year cadets are not allowed to congregate anywhere but in the common areas. It is my duty to report your infraction."

"Worf, don't," Nikolai said seriously, dropping his bluster. "I already have two demerits on my record."

Worf bristled. "What for?"

"Exceeding the allowable tardies in a semester, and back-talking a teacher. But I had to stand up for myself! He had no right to upbraid me in front of the whole class."

"He had every right to discipline you, if you were insubordinate," Worf said.

"You don't even know my side of the story, and you're taking the other. Typical."

Worf was unmoved. "I will not allow you to bring dishonor to our family. You must answer for your actions."

"Fine! Go ahead and rat me out – see if I care!" Nikolai stomped past Worf, stopping short of pushing him out of the way, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Worf ground his teeth and sat down at his desk to begin his homework. From the other side of the suite, he heard the click of the adjoining door. One of his Tanugan suitemates peeked at him through the entryway of the bathroom and primly shut both doors.

Worf tapped on his PADD, muttering to himself and wishing that he were back on the parrises squares playing stage, where throwing an opponent to the floor was all just a part of the game.


	17. Chapter 17

Tasha collapsed in bed, not bothering to pull the blanket over herself. After two days of classes followed by several hours of trial games, she felt as if someone had methodically worked her over with a paddle. She was so tired; she didn't think sleep would be enough. She wished she could safely fall into a coma.

All of the contestants had played full games in teams that afternoon. Tasha and Worf had stuck with their new teammates, and had won all of their trial games. Park hadn't toned down her ultra-offensive playing style, so the margin of the last win had been a mere two points, and had only been made possible by a few brilliant saves, courtesy of Worf. Tasha smiled – every time she'd run down the home ramp, the sight of the Klingon protecting the bottom wicket like a man-mountain made her happy.

The trial games were over, and now the real tryouts would begin, at 1500 hours on Friday. Despite Coach Willoughby's warning, several cadets had eliminated themselves by working too hard on Wednesday to compete on Thursday. There had already been some minor injuries. Still, there were a good hundred or so cadets in the pool, all vying for one of the four top spots.

Tasha turned over on her stomach and laid her cheek on her folded arms. She couldn't wait to get through hand-to-hand and tac lab tomorrow. She fell asleep, dreaming of running and passing and the buzz of the scoreboard.

* * *

><p>"You've been divided into groups by position," Coach Willoughby told the assembled cadets in the arena. He had the heavy, slightly paunchy build of a former athlete, blond hair mixed with grey, bags under his piercing blue eyes, and a handlebar mustache below a fleshy nose. "Switch players – we've chosen one position for you for skills and drills, but that doesn't mean you're out of the running for the other."<p>

Bobby was standing next to Tasha in the group of centers. He leaned over and whispered, "I don't know why anyone plays two positions. It almost guarantees you'll be an alternate."

Tasha shrugged and kept her eyes on the head coach.

"Forwards stay here with me. Guards are in 2-B with Equipment Manager Burke. Centers go to 2-C with Asst. Coach Allen. Defenders, 2-D with Asst. Coach Kierdon."

"Thank god we don't have Kierdon," Bobby whispered.

"Why?" Tasha whispered back.

"He's a Zaldan. No sense of humor. Very angry dude."

"Cadets, do yourselves proud. First cuts are at 1700 hours. Let's move!" Willoughby clapped his hands together, and the students rushed off to their respective arenas.

"Coach Willoughby talks funny. Where's he from?" Tasha asked Bobby, as they hurried through the doors.

"Texas," Bobby replied, using a fair imitation of the coach's accent.

"Where's that?" They passed the doorway of arena 2-B and moved to the far end of the corridor as the guards started streaming through.

"According to him? Center of the universe," Bobby replied.

Tasha smiled and they hurried along.

* * *

><p>Worf stood near the bottom of a playing stage with the rest of the defenders. They were mostly a tall, wide, muscular bunch, with the ratio of males to females around four to one. Here and there, a smaller cadet stood out in the crowd. Worf was sure that they would disappear after the first round was over.<p>

"I am Kierdon. You will listen silently. Defender is the only position in parrises squares that does not run up and down. Instead, we pass, block, and check. We keep eyes on ball, even though play is blocked by stage. We pay attention to score and who has possession. Is thinking position." The tall, dark-haired coach pointed one webbed hand at the cadets. "Drop to floor. Fifty pushups. Go!"

Worf obeyed immediately, counting out loud, as did most of the cadets. A few weren't quite as fast.

Coach Kierdon pushed the nearest cadet down to the mat with a casually forceful body check. "Drop to floor!" he repeated.

The rest of the cadets obeyed, and they looked like a rising and falling ocean wave of shiny red uniforms against the blue pads on the floor.

* * *

><p>"Turn!" Coach Allen yelled. "Pass! Home square one! Top square!"<p>

Each of the four playing stages in arena 2-C was teeming with a group of cadets, running back and forth and trying not to collide with one another as they responded to the drill calls. There were paired in groups of two, and when Coach Allen next yelled, "Pass!" Tasha pointed her mallet at Bobby's. The ball zipped into the curved end of his outstretched mallet.

"Score!" Bobby sank the ball into the wicket, and Tasha took it on the rebound. They ran for the bottom enemy square. "Turn!" They changed direction and ran back up the ramp, narrowly avoiding a pile-up of fallen cadets. "Home square one!" They ran up to the top and back down the other side, a difficult maneuver with the change in momentum and hairpin turns. Tasha noticed that, for all his goofiness, Bobby was a good, focused player. Once he was in the zone, he reacted like an automaton. He would be tough to beat.

"Pass!"

* * *

><p>There was a break at 1630, while the coaches deliberated over the first round of eliminations. The cadets had reconvened in 2-A for mini-bouts, and now, every square meter of the padded floor was covered with students stretching out and lying down, relishing the recovery time.<p>

Tasha and Worf had found their way back to each other, after having been split up for the two ten-minute bouts. They sat facing each other, Worf in a cross-legged position, stretching his arms straight out to each side, Tasha with her legs in a wide V, trying to get her chest flat on the mat.

"Wow, you're flexible." Bobby had walked up to the two, flanked by Drexel and Park.

Tasha raised her torso slowly, brought her thighs together, and pointed her toes. "I did gymnastics at boarding school," she explained. "I didn't pursue it here, though – too tall." She flexed her toes and dropped into a forward bend.

The three seniors took seats on the mat and resumed their own stretches. "What do you think of the competition?" Park asked Bobby.

"I've seen some good players," the sandy-haired boy replied.

Park frowned. "I haven't seen anyone _that_ good. I think it's between me and Peg."

Bobby looked over at the far wall, where the curly-haired redhead was doing a handstand with Jackson as a spotter. "I don't know, Park."

"Shut up. I can beat her." She stretched one wiry bicep across her body.

"There were many good players among the defenders," Worf said. "It will be a worthy battle."

Bobby raised his eyebrows, but Tasha just smiled. She was used to Worf's worldview by now.

At 1700 hours, the head coach called for silence. "64 cadets will move on to the second round," he said into a microphone. "When I call your name, have a seat in the spectator box to my left. If I do not call your name, I encourage you to work on your skills and try out next year. The list is in alphabetical order."

"Damn it," Tasha said softly and scowled at Worf. They would have a long wait to find out if they'd made it.

"Cadet Second Class Calvin Abbott. Cadet First Class Pietro Anzolini. Cadet Second Class Tabitha Arkin." As the student athletes rose and hurried over to the spectator box, a jubilant spring in their steps, Tasha could already see disappointed faces in the crowd. About half of the students there would be cut.

They waited as Coach Willoughby read through all the names, stumbling over some of the pronunciations in his heavily accented drawl. "Cadet Third Class Tzo...Tzora...Tzorine Michi. Cadet First Class Margaret Miller."

No one was surprised to see the tall redhead join the others in the spectator box, high-fiving Drexel and Jackson when she got there.

They waited. "Cadet Second Class Marlene Owen. Cadet First Class Jeon Yee Park." The slim girl got up and went over to the benches with a confident strut. She fixed Peg with a defiant glare and sat down beside her.

And waited. "Cadet First Class Penhold Roberts."

Tasha's jaw dropped. "Not one word," Bobby warned her, one bony finger aloft.

"_Penhold?_ Is that a name, or something that belongs on a desk?" she asked incredulously.

"Whatever, _Natasha._" He walked away to join the others.

The coach was finally getting to the end of the alphabet. "Cadet First Class Nathaniel Warren. Cadet Fourth Class Worf."

Tasha gave the Klingon a thumbs-up. She'd been paying attention – he was only the second freshman called so far.

"Cadet Second Class Xeto. Cadet Third Class Natasha Yar."

Tasha jumped to her feet and caught up with Worf. He shared her look of satisfaction. "I had no doubt that we would survive the first cut," he said.

"Same here," she agreed. They walked up the stairs to an empty row in the stands. "The real battle is still ahead."

After a pep talk, the cadets were released for a dinner break. They were to return at 1900 hours for the second round. Tasha and Worf descended the stairs of the stands, to find Bobby, Drexel, and Park waiting for them.

"Hey, you wanna get dinner with us?" Bobby asked. "I live in Feynman Hall, but we can meet up in the quad."

Tasha jumped the last two steps to the ground. "Sure thing, Penhold," she said, and giggled.

Bobby lunged for her and grabbed her under the armpits, tickling her with his thumbs. Tasha shrieked with laughter, giving him an opening to take her down to the mat. He straddled her and tickled her mercilessly, while she struggled to stop laughing and push him off.

"Forget you ever heard that name!" Bobby cried.

"Okay, okay, I forget, I forget!" Tasha gasped out between giggles.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Park groaned. "Get off her and let's go, Bobby. I'm so hungry, I could eat my own arm." She stomped to the exit with the flood of other students.

Bobby pushed back to his heels and offered Tasha his hand. She took it, and realized she hadn't noticed his eyes before. They were green with flecks of yellow and brown, and the start of crinkly laugh lines in the corners. He had thick, uneven lashes, the same sandy-brown color as his thinning hair. He helped her to her feet.

As they all walked to the exit, Worf said to Tasha, "You could have easily gotten out of that hold."

"I know," Tasha agreed. "I just didn't want to hurt him."

"Hmmm." Worf's response rumbled in his chest like a growl.

She slapped him on the back and they headed out into the warm evening, where the sunset was streaking the sky with ribbons of bright pink and red.


	18. Chapter 18

Neither Park nor Yar had bothered to change out of her athletic gear for dinner. Park didn't make small talk as they waited in line together, didn't try to engage Tasha in conversation at all, and acknowledged the waves of classmates who passed with sour-faced nods. But she waited for Tasha as the blond got her food, and chose a spot in the garden with room for five to sit on stone benches. The older girl made Tasha feel shy, but not completely uncomfortable.

"The only good thing about the commissary is that they always have kimchee with the condiments. Makes everything better," Park said, mixing the spicy red cabbage with the rest of her food.

"What's kimchee?" Tasha asked.

Park rolled her eyes and didn't answer. Tasha picked up her sandwich and ate silently.

Bobby and Drexel joined them a few minutes later, also dressed in their parrises squares uniforms. Park had pounded her dinner and was lying on her stomach in the grass. Bobby pretended to step on her before sitting down next to Tasha on the stone bench.

"Good thing I'm wearing a cup, Park, or the sight of your flat ass might've made this uniform embarrassing," Bobby joked.

"Stow it, Roberts. You've got no ass at all. Your name oughtta be Noassatall Roberts," Park retorted.

He jumped to his feet, nearly upsetting his tray. "What're you talking about? Check out this caboose." He proceeded to shake his diminutive posterior, accompanying his dance with impromptu beat boxing.

"God, you're such an idiot! Sit down!" Park yelled, turning over and kicking at him with one foot.

Tasha giggled. Drexel ignored them, eating his way through one of two dinner trays.

Bobby sat back down and balanced his tray on his knobby knees. "So, what's your major, Yar?"

"Weapons and Tactical. Yours?"

"Xenobotany. While you're blowing up the Romulans, I'll be planting flowers." He put the backs of his hands under his chin and fluttered his eyelashes at her.

"I'm a Weapons and Tac major, too," Park put in.

"Aren't you gonna have a heart attack and die from the surprise?" Bobby asked Tasha facetiously. "She seems like such a gentle lass."

"Mine's 20th Century Literature," Drexel said around a mouthful of food.

Park grimaced. "He's pulling your leg, Yar. Drex is Weapons and Tactical, too."

The shaven-headed boy didn't wait to swallow before shoveling in another mouthful of peas and potatoes. "Coulda had her going, if you'd kept your mouth shut."

"You keep your mouth shut. You eat like a pig!" Park said with disgust.

Drexel opened his mouth to show her the contents. Park flipped over and covered her head with her hands.

Bobby laughed. "Don't you like seafood?"

Park raised her head and gave him a withering look. "What are you, 12?"

Drexel piled his full tray on top of the empty one and attacked a salisbury steak with his fork. "I gotta keep my weight up. If parrises squares don't work out, there's always wrastlin'."

Worf joined them, and after a severe look at the group, sat down beside Drexel.

"You're not gonna be on the _wrestling _team, Drex," Park said. "If you don't make it, I'll shave _my _head."

"What'll you do if I don't make it?" Bobby asked.

Park rolled over on her back and pushed at him with her foot. "I'll thank my lucky stars I don't have to hear your mouth all season."

Tasha looked around at the group and back at Worf. She didn't know what to make of their antagonistic dynamic.

Worf focused on finishing his dinner.

At 1900 hours, all 64 cadets were back at the arena. They would play one regulation length game on eight different stages, with a change in teams at every quarter. The whole thing would take much longer than normal. Tasha supposed it was a test of stamina.

They were split into teams, and she was once again separated from Worf. Tasha was surprised to hear her name called to play with Peg Miller. The team consisted of four women, a setup that instantly made Tasha feel comfortable. They waited at the bottom of the playing stage, adjusting pads and chinstraps.

"What's your name again?" Peg asked the defender, a wide and tall girl with a long, black, wavy ponytail spilling out of the back of her helmet.

"Kailahni Miapaogo." Her voice was soft and shy, in stark contrast to her solid build.

"What a mouthful. Where're you from?" asked the redhead.

"Samoa."

"Okay, Samoa, Yar, Johnson," Peg said, looking at each woman in turn. "We have about 90 seconds to talk strategy."

Peg used the time efficiently. She ran down suggestions for each position, bullet-point style, her British accent making it sound more palatable than just a series of orders. It was more like a pep talk. She turned from Johnson to Tasha. "You're the center, so stick to the center. Just score like mad on squares two and three. Save the bottom and the top for me – we can rack up a lot of points if we get a good rhythm going in the middle. 'Kay? Samoa, steal and pass. Steal and pass. Everyone comes down to the bottom square ready to get body-checked by the defender. Surprise 'em. If I can outrun whoever's got the ball, you steal, pass to me, and we're on our way to the top. Everybody got it? Okay, okay, hands in." Peg thrust out her left hand and the others copied her, piling their hands together and holding their ion mallets out of the way. "Stay loose and have fun. Most important part – love the game. Fun on three, 'kay, fun on three, one, two, three…"

"Fun!" All four girls yelled, pulling their hands apart and laughing spontaneously.

The referee zipped over on a hover disc. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," Peg answered. The team lined up and powered on their ion mallets.

Three boops went off a second apart, and then the buzzer sounded. Peg sprinted up the ramp, taking the turns tight on the inside. Johnson followed, trying to keep up, but took the turns wide on the outside, and a gap developed. Tasha slowed to stay behind her. Kailahni took her position at the bottom square in front of the red home wicket.

Peg reached the top square a couple of seconds before the other team and took possession of the silver ball hovering between the two top wickets. The ball turned red in her mallet, and Peg charged down the enemy ramp, Johnson and Yar close behind. They finally got a look at the other team: a male forward and guard, neither of whom Tasha had played before, and a female center, whom Tasha remembered from drills. The guard moved to check Peg, and she danced out of reach. Tasha saw an opening, and yelled, "Pass!" Peg shot the ball into Tasha's mallet and the blond made it down to square two before the opposing team caught up. She passed the ball to Johnson, who extended her mallet down to Peg, where she'd run ahead. Peg's old teammate Warren was the defender, waiting in front of the blue bottom wicket. Miller feinted left and shifted her weight as if to try to score right; he went to block her, and she shot the ball on the left into the wicket. Two points went up on the scoreboard. "Psyche!" she yelled gleefully. Johnson rebounded the ball and Peg took off for the top square. Yar and Johnson passed the ball back and forth as they wove up the ramp. The other team focused on trying to steal it, and left the second wicket open for Tasha to score.

She quickly found a rhythm with her teammates. The score was 7-0 before the other team finally got possession and the athletes ran up and over the top square, down to the home side where Kailahni was waiting. Peg was right: the enemy forward hunched up as he approached her, ready to fend off a body check. Kailahni extended her mallet and stole the ball, passing it to Peg before the maneuver fully registered on the other team. Peg was running back up the ramp and over to the enemy side faster than even her teammates could follow. When she reached the bottom, Warren said, "You again?" with a laugh and moved to steal the ball. Peg dipped down and swooped up to score behind him. Too quickly for her teammates, who finally reached the bottom square as Warren rebounded the ball. It turned blue in his mallet. The players crushed together to try to get the ball, with possession finally going to the enemy forward.

The opposite team was bent on scoring above all else, to throw a number up on the board. They left themselves vulnerable to sneak attacks and steals. They finally scored, but only after the spread had grown to 15-0. They were getting angry and careless, and lost possession again.

Peg encouraged rapid run-and-pass moves that kept the other team whirling around, trying to get to the ball. Johnson passed to Tasha, who passed to Peg, and as they were running down the enemy ramp, Tasha suddenly felt the wind knocked out of her by an illegal body check. She lost her footing on the incline and went down.

"Foul! Foul!" her teammates were shouting, even as the ref hovered up and blew a blast on his whistle.

"Personal foul – blue team – subtract four points," the ref announced.

The other team began to berate their guard. "You idiot! We're back at one point now!"

Peg helped Tasha to her feet. "You okay?"

Tasha nodded, her blue eyes blazing, and looked over at the opposing guard. He was looking straight at her with a smirk. She clenched her mallet tight and balled up her other fist.

Peg waved at the ref and formed a T with two hands.

"Time out – red team," he announced.

Peg pulled Tasha aside and put her mouth close to the ear-holes on the younger girl's helmet. "Shake it off. Don't get mad. Don't retaliate. They're trying to throw us off our game. Don't let 'em. Forget it, 'kay? You're all right – just forget it."

Something about Peg's confidential murmur made Tasha calm down. She turned to look at the older girl, green eyes sincere below nearly invisible orange eyebrows.

"You _are_ all right, aren't you?" Peg asked. Tasha nodded. "Y'sure?" Peg asked again.

"Sure." Tasha felt her righteous anger drain away completely.

Peg patted her bottom, and Tasha jumped, and then laughed at herself. She'd forgotten about that gesture – the players were well covered in pads, except for a few spots. Peg gave an OK sign to the ref.

"Time in," he announced. "Hold positions for the buzzer."

Three boops, and then the buzzer went off, and the players sprang into motion. Tasha smiled to herself, remembering the four girls yelling, "Fun!" just a few minutes before.

* * *

><p>The buzzer sounded for the end of the first quarter. The red team had creamed the blue team, 25 to 7. The players walked down the ramps to the floor to await their new team assignments. They powered down their mallets and took off their helmets, panting and recovering from the fast-paced game.<p>

Peg beckoned to her teammates. Her dark red curls were matted down with sweat, but she looked exhilarated, not tired. "Samoa, good job. Keep those tips in mind and you're sure to advance. Yar, good job. You're a quick thinker, quick on your feet. Keep it up. Johnson, good, but your head's not in the game. You gotta react faster, move faster." Peg smiled at them all. "We had fun, right?" She waved and walked away.

Johnson exhaled loudly and wiped beads of perspiration from her upper lip. "She acts like she's god's gift to the game."

Tasha raised one eyebrow. "Didja see her play? She sorta is."

* * *

><p>The last buzzer sounded, drawing tired whoops from some of the cadets. Tasha felt like her legs had turned to jelly. She staggered off the playing stage and went in search of Worf. She soon found the tall Klingon – he stood out from the crowd.<p>

"How were your bouts?" she asked, still breathing heavily through her mouth.

"Mixed. Two wins, two losses," he replied.

"They snapped my winning streak, too. The last team I played with was all over the place. It was painful." She tucked her mallet under her arm. "I'm gonna hit the showers."

Worf curled back one lip over his jagged teeth. "Humans bathe too much."

She shrugged and walked away. She wasn't going to be the one to tell Worf that he smelled like a Denebian slime pit.

Worf walked back to the freshman hall alone, breathing in the cool, damp bay air. Sixteen more cadets had been eliminated from the running, including the only other freshman. Worf and Tasha would return at 0800 hours for the final tryout day. He would need a full night's rest to prepare – he hoped that no surprises awaited him in his room.

Worf opened his dorm room door to find the interior dark, silent, and empty. His eyebrows lowered with suspicion and worry. He turned on the lights. "Nikolai?" His brother's bed was unmade. Worf exhaled a long sigh and tapped his communicator. "Worf to Rozhenko."

The answer was obscured by the sound of music and chatter. "What is it, brother?"

"Where are you?" Worf demanded.

"It's Friday night. I'm OUT."

The transmission ended. Worf wondered if the language receptors had misinterpreted his brother's message, or if Nikolai had cut him off. In any case, he knew he would get at least a few hours of undisturbed sleep. If his brother's return was not silent, Nikolai would feel his wrath.


	19. Chapter 19

Worf awoke at the sound of his alarm at 0600. He noticed right away that his brother's bed had not been slept in. He was worried, but tried not to let it get the best of him. He needed his full attention for the trial ahead. He got out of bed and prepared for his morning exercises.

At the sound of her alarm, Tasha sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp. Her gasp turned into a groan – she was sore, no, sore didn't even begin to describe the pain radiating through her muscles. She hoped the sonic shower was programmed with something that could help, and hadn't someone mentioned something about the wellness center offering massage therapy? She'd have to check it out. As it was, she wished for a zero-grav to lift her out of bed.

* * *

><p>The coaches were dressed in athletic suits rather than their uniforms, perhaps because it was Saturday, and looked ready for action. Coach Willoughby addressed the 48 cadets in the arena, after Asst. Coach Allen had warmed them up with calisthenics. "We'll have ten-minute bouts, people, two teams at a time, two teams on deck. Everybody else in the stands. Let's make some noise up there. When I call your name, you have ten minutes in 2-B, then I want you back in here and ready to play. Understood?"<p>

"Yes, sir!"

"First two teams get no prep time, but that's life." He began calling names. The eight cadets grabbed their gear and lined up at either side of the main stage. Tasha was glad she wouldn't have to play right away. The coach called the next two teams, who headed out the door. The rest of the students set off for the stands.

Tasha sat beside Worf, gingerly lowering herself onto the bench. She thought that he looked preoccupied. "What's wrong?"

Worf's first response was a closed-mouth growl. "My brother did not return home last night."

"Oh, no. Do you think he's okay?"

"I have not yet tried to contact him this morning. I spoke to him last night."

"What'd he say?"

Worf's expression turned darker. "He was not forthcoming about his whereabouts. Or his activities."

"Worf, he probably just –" Tasha cut herself off. Her Klingon friend might be more concerned about Nicholai's potentially dishonorable actions than his personal safety.

"I am aware of what he might just have been doing," Worf said with irritation.

They looked up as Park and Roberts sat down next to them. Park shrugged her shoulders up to her ears and lowered them with a hiss. "Sore," she said laconically.

"Me, too," Tasha agreed.

"Tell me about it," said Bobby. "I put so much liniment on last night, I stuck to my sheets."

"Does that mean you sleep naked?" Jackson took a seat in front of them, Drexel beside him.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Bobby fluttered his eyelashes at the big guard.

"You know I would." Jackson nodded at Miller and Warren, who took seats beside him. Park watched them, chewing the inside of her cheek.

The mini-bout began with the shriek of the buzzer. The blue team took possession first, and the cadets in the stands cheered for their friends.

"Bet Coach cuts all eight of 'em," Peg predicted. "Look at that forward – he's running around like a squirrel trying to hide a nut."

"Sloppy," Jackson agreed.

"Hey, Jacks, thought you liked it sloppy," Bobby joked. Drexel let out a crude laugh.

"Only if I'm getting it from a weedy kid who'll be bald before he's 30," Jackson drawled.

"Ouch," said Warren.

"Turnover," Peg said. The ball glowed red and the players collided as they tried to change direction.

"What a waste of time. Coach shoulda cut 'em last night," Park complained.

"They didn't play this badly last night – they're probably exhausted," said Tasha.

"Aren't we all? I'm not going to let that stop me from playing my best," Park snapped.

"Uh-oh…" said Bobby.

The ref blew his whistle. "Technical foul – red team: failure to score the bottom wicket first. Minus two points."

"That's right, folks – they're starting with a negative number on the board," Jackson announced.

"I think Peg called it – Coach got all the morons together to make sure he wants to cut them," Bobby said.

Park harrumphed. Tasha decided not to waste any more energy watching the hapless players bumble through the game. She bent close to Worf. "Are you going to call him?" she asked quietly.

His jaw worked. "Not here."

She nodded comprehendingly. If Worf didn't want to air out his private business for everyone to witness, she completely understood.

After another bout, when Tasha was starting to feel her muscles go completely cold, Coach Willoughby finally called her name. "On deck – team red: Park, Jackson, Yar, Worf. Team blue: Thompkins, Lewis, Abbot, Xeto."

As they got up to go, Roberts stuck out his foot, put his hands behind his back and whistled a tune, looking around innocently. Park shoved him as she squeezed by, and Tasha laughed. Bobby straightened up before Worf passed him.

The two newly formed teams sized each other up while they waited in the arena next door. Park turned to her teammates with a scowl. "It's not an even match-up. What gives?"

"Thompkins is really aggressive. Maybe Coach Willoughby wants to see how you'd do with someone who plays as offensively as you do," Tasha said without thinking.

Park gave her a condescending look. "Is that your expert opinion?"

"If she's right, then Coach wants to see if we can exploit a weak defense," Jackson said. Park shot him a look. He put up his defined forearms. "Hey, I'm just sayin'."

"Ten minutes is a very short time to prove one's worth," Worf stated. "Better we go on with a strategy than none at all."

"Fine – you want a strategy? Here's a strategy – run fast, get the ball first, and score the most." Park gave Tasha a glare that defied her to contradict the older girl.

Tasha was undaunted. "Look, I've played Thompkins and Xeto before, and I've been on a team with Lewis. They're all aggressive players. If we go in hard, we might end up spinning our wheels for ten minutes. If we finesse it, play a passing game, we might fake 'em out."

"Go on," Jackson encouraged her.

"Once we score the bottom, let's pretend we're going for the top, you know, for a higher score. But instead, we switch it up really fast and then stick to the middle. What do you think?"

Worf nodded. Jackson shrugged. Park still looked miffed. "What if they don't buy it?"

"Trust me; they're going to be too busy chasing you to notice. If it doesn't work, we'll do it your way," Tasha replied.

Park looked at the other two. "Fine. We've got about five minutes before we have to go back."

Tasha internalized the surge of triumph and began to stretch out.

* * *

><p>The red team waited in line at the bottom of the ramp. Tasha had forgotten what it was like to play in front of a crowd: the adrenaline rush. The feeling that her stomach was doing flip-flops and her heart was in her throat. The noise – she and Worf were playing with two members of last year's team, and the cadets in the stands were already showing their support. She took deep, even breaths through her nose and waited for the buzzer.<p>

Three boops and it went off, and Park leapt up the ramp like a gazelle. Jackson was muscular but fast, so Tasha could run full out behind him. Worf positioned himself in front of the red home wicket on the bottom square.

Park's long legs served her well – she reached the top square a second ahead of Thompkins and took possession of the hovering ball. It glowed red in her mallet. She hesitated – Thompkins had his shoulder lowered to check her, but Jackson was suddenly there like a roadblock. Park maneuvered around the enemy guard and bounded down the ramp, pursued by both centers. Park took the two turns sharp and tight, and ran full bore at the defender, as if she planned to barrel straight into him. To Tasha's shock, he flinched, and Park dove aside at the last instant and shot the ball into the wicket. A cheer went up from the onlookers, and two points went up on the board.

Tasha had sped down the ramp and now rebounded the ball, pivoting and passing back to Park, who took off up the ramp like wildfire. Her pass to Jackson was so quick that Tasha thought she hadn't made it. Park kept running for the top square with three opponents in hot pursuit. Jackson abruptly switched directions, and yes, he had the ball – he passed it to Tasha, who scored on the second wicket. The score went up another point, but the reward from the crowd was their foot stomps and yells at the sneak attack. Jackson rebounded, and he and Tasha ran up the ramp. The other team was onto them as they reached the third wicket, and blocking and passing began in earnest.

The red team made two more one-point shots on the middle wickets before the blue team stole possession. Tasha happened to catch Benny Thompkins' expression as he went up against Worf, crouched and snarling at the bottom square. Worf blocked the first shot and body-checked the forward, who went down to the stage. There was a melee as almost every player tried to take the ball; in the confusion, Tasha heard the crack of a mallet against a helmet.

"Ow!" Park yelled, more indignant than hurt, as the ref's whistle shrilled in the air.

The ref hovered just above the bottom square. "Personal foul – blue team. Subtract four points. Hold your positions for the buzzer."

A low "Oooh" went out from the stands.

"We got it in the bag," Park said, with a mocking smile at Thompkins.

Three beeps, the buzzer, and the players swarmed over each other. The blue team finally scored, raising their points to –2. The players scrambled up the ramp, trying to avoid each other. The blue team feinted and passed, but Tasha was sure they were going to head straight to the top for the higher scoring wicket. She outran them, signaling Park with one hand, too fast; the ref blew his whistle again.

"Technical foul – red team. Offside."

Tasha swore under her breath. She'd reached the top square before the forward and the ball.

"Minus two points. Players return to red square one."

Park glowered at Tasha as they jogged back down the ramp. "Nice going."

"Didn't you see me signal? They were headed for the top," Tasha retorted.

"_You _don't call the shots."

"Who's got it in the bag now?" Thompkins taunted, as they gathered on the bottom square.

"Put a positive number on the board, then we'll talk," Jackson replied.

Three beeps, the buzzer, and Thompkins broke free from the mass with a run for the top, Park on his tail. The blue guard and center hemmed in Jackson and Tasha; she heard, "Go get 'im, Park!" from the stands. Thompkins scored at the top, but with no rebound, Park took the ball and ran down the enemy ramp. She was the faster and had a clear path to the bottom wicket. The other players ran to catch up as she faced off with the defender.

"Pass!" Tasha yelled, even as Park was lowering her shoulder to fend off the defender's body check. He diverted Park's attention long enough for Lewis to steal the ball. Tasha was right on the guard – she slammed into his side and stole the ball, passing it immediately to Jackson. He passed it to Park – she scored while the defender was still blocking Tasha. Another cheer went up from the stands, and suddenly, the buzzer sounded to end the game.

Willoughby took the microphone. "Final score – 5-0, red team. On deck, red team…" He bellowed out more names as Worf pounded down the ramp to join his teammates.

"That sounds like a hockey score," Park caviled. "We should've done better."

"It would've been tight, if you hadn't gotten clocked," Jackson reminded her. He pulled off his helmet and untied and retied his braids. "I like playing with you, Worf. You're one intimidating Klingon."

Worf stared at Jackson without smiling. "And I with you. You played well."

"Clear the stage, cadets," the ref warned.

The eight players headed back to the stands, the two teams giving each other a wide berth. Worf led the way back to the row behind Peg and the others, who clapped for them as they sat down.

"Cheers! That first move was brilliant, Park – you caught them with their trousers down," Peg congratulated her.

Park screwed up her mouth. "It was Yar's idea," she said grudgingly.

"Oh, good on you, Yar! That was brilliant." Peg reached over and slapped Tasha's padded knee.

"Thanks." Tasha tried to hide the pleasure she felt from the compliment.

Bobby got up and wedged himself between Park and Yar. "That was an exciting little game, there." He threw his long arms around their padded shoulders. "Those guys were tougher than I expected."

Park threw off his arm with a scowl. Tasha let it rest there – she could barely feel it, anyway. "I knew we wouldn't score much if we played their kind of game – butting heads like that."

"We won." Worf directed a pointed look at Bobby's hand on Tasha's shoulder. The human boy jerked his arm back. "Nothing else matters."

A cheer went up from the other cadets, and they all turned their attention to the game for a while. The blue team's defender was the Samoan cadet Tasha had played with the day before – Kailahni had not let a single shot get past her so far.

The final buzzer sounded, and Coach Willoughby's voice came over the speaker. "Final score: 11-0, Blue team. On deck, red team: Miller, Drexel, Roberts, Warren. Blue team…"

"Gotta go." Bobby used the girls' knees for leverage to swing himself over the bench in front of them. He shuffled out behind Peg as both Park and Yar yelled in protest.

"That jerk! I'm still sore as hell," Park grumbled.

* * *

><p>After the mini-bouts were over, the cadets waited anxiously for the coaches to deliberate. Tasha was afraid that her foul would take her out of the running – there were so many other good players.<p>

Worf took the time to finally step away from the arena. He walked outside and tapped his combadge. "Worf to Rozhenko."

"Brother! So nice to hear from you," came the reply.

Nicholai's insouciant voice made Worf's blood boil. "Where are you?"

"I'm having brunch in Sausalito. We had the most exquisite –"

"Nicholai, you missed curfew. I thought you couldn't risk any more demerits," Worf interjected.

"Breaking curfew can't be that bad. And besides – it was worth it. I met this beautiful –"

"I am not interested, Nicholai. Worf out."

The Klingon's anger grew. He longed to confide in his parents – the disgrace Nicholai was bringing on him was too much to bear alone. But Worf couldn't compound the dishonor by informing on his brother like a spy. He felt cornered. He hated being cornered.

A flowerbed decorated the inner curve of the walkway that led back to the sports center: fluffy orange and yellow marigolds nestled their sunny heads beside pink chrysanthemums in a happy, bright display. Worf felt like tearing them out, bloom by bloom, with his bare hands, until nothing was left but black loam. He was growling, unbeknownst to himself. He calmed himself through a great internal effort, resolving not to take out his frustrations in a childish display. He stalked back into the sports center.

Behind him, a hoary head popped up among the flowers. Boothby breathed a sigh of relief.

Worf climbed back up the stairs of the stands, and Tasha's eyebrows went up at the sight of his fiercer than normal expression. "Is everything alright?"

Before he could respond, the coaches returned. Tasha grabbed Worf's hand and squeezed it before she realized what she was doing. She looked embarrassed by the gesture, but Worf didn't seem to mind; he squeezed back and let her go. She turned away, shaking out her suddenly numb fingers, swallowing down a yelp of pain.

"32 cadets will go on to the finals," Coach Willoughby announced. "If I call your name, thank you for trying out. We wish you the best, and if you're not graduating, hope to see you next year." He began reading off the names. Tasha held her breath and dug her fingernails into her palms, as he got further down the alphabet. When he got to the end of the list without calling her name, she slumped in relief, and then flashed Worf a smile. "We made it to the final round. Whaddya think is next?"

Bobby spoke up with the answer. "Coached practice games. He'll choose the team today, guaranteed."

"And the captain," Park put in.

Tasha nodded. Worf still looked like he wanted to bite someone. "Hey." She gave him a nudge with her shoulder. "Whatever it is, forget about it. Stay in the moment. Don't lose your concentration now."

Worf stared hard into her earnest blue eyes. He knew that she was right. He would channel his aggression into this final battle.


	20. Chapter 20

"Team red: Miller, Jackson, Roberts, Worf. Team blue: Park, Drexel, Yar, Miapaogo."

At the head coach's announcement, the students grabbed their gear and headed down to the stage. Tasha gave Worf a look of trepidation – she would play against him for the first time. His look was distinctly wolfish; there was no chance of him going easy on her.

The coaches were on the hoverdiscs now, instead of the referees. Coach Willoughby zoomed his airborne segway-without-wheels up and over to the blue side. "Mr. Park, what's your plan for the game?"

Jeon Yee's black eyes narrowed. "Try to outsmart them. That's a tough team – we have to anticipate – use our heads."

Willoughby nodded and zoomed away. Park gestured for the other three to huddle. "Drex, be very aggressive. Peg hates getting hit. Try to knock her around a bit."

"Park, that's not gonna work!" Tasha cried. "Peg is fast – I thought we were going to try to outsmart them."

Park rolled her eyes. "That's just what Coach wanted to hear. You too, Yar – Bobby relies on his speed, so get in his space and slow him down."

"What about Worf?" Drexel asked.

They looked at Tasha. The blonde bristled. "What do you want me to say? He's strong, fast, and fearless. The best we can do is try to get to him three-on-one and better our chances that someone will get past him."

Kailahni listened silently. Park turned her attention to the broad young woman. "Are you intimidated?"

She shook her head no, and her long braid flipped below her helmet. Kailahni had olive brown skin and a dark mole on one corner of her upper lip, and dark brown eyes that seemed nothing but shy at the moment. She looked meek, but they had all seen her come alive on the stage.

"Just keep doin' whatcha been doin'," Park wound up.

"Have you ever won against Peg?" Tasha asked abruptly.

Park lifted her chin. "Shut up, Yar."

Tasha let it pass. The coach was calling for them to line up, and they broke out of the huddle. Tasha stared at Drexel's wide back, waiting for the buzzer, feeling her nerves twang and ping inside her. The cadets in the stands began a slow, rhythmic clapping. They sped up little by little, as the warning beeps sounded, and then the shrill of the buzzer.

Playing a coached game was very different. Along with watching the ball, her teammates, and her opponents, Tasha had to keep an ear out for directions from three coaches. She let herself go loose, responding without thinking, imagining herself a parrises squares robot.

Drexel was following Park's instructions, and tried to check Miller whenever she had the ball, but the tall redhead was as elusive as a sidewinder. She faked and feinted and passed her way out of tight jam after tight jam. In Tasha's eyes, the tactic was not a winning one – the scores on the board were low, but the other team still led. As for Bobby – he didn't seem to have a problem with being body checked at all. Every time he had the ball and Tasha went head-to-head with him, he grinned at her like a maniac. She suspected that he enjoyed the physical aspect of the game as much as she did, and Park's assessment had been wrong.

They were down six points by the halftime buzzer. Each team gathered on a players' bench, toweling off and catching their breath. While the coaches talked to the red team, Tasha confronted Park. "We have to change tactics. If we don't get more creative, we're going to run out of energy by the fourth. Pouring on the aggression is just not working."

Park released her black hair from its elastic band, and it fell forward along her jaw. "We just need eight points to get ahead. We can do it if we keep hitting them hard." She raked her hair back with her hands and retied it into a miniscule ponytail, like a sideways kewpie doll. "We'll wear them down."

"You're wearing us down! And aggressive moves don't faze Bobby – he's a head taller than me and about 20 kilos heavier. I'm not slowing him down one bit."

"And Jackson's got biceps bigger than the ball – every time I try to check Peg, she disappears and he's right there," Drexel added.

Park flashed an angry look at him. "If you're not tough enough, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"Not tough enough!" Drexel jumped to his feet. "Save the attacks for the other team, Park!"

The coaches were there in a second. "Whoa, whoa, what's the problem here?" Willoughby stood between Drexel and the rest of the team.

The young man just rubbed his shaved head. "We're talking about changing our strategy, Coach."

"No, we're talking about executing it better," Park contradicted.

The head coach scrutinized the team. Kailahni looked as placid as if she were in another room. "Alright, settle down. Let's talk strategy. Sit down, Drex."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me what's going on, Park."

"We can turn it around, Coach. We just need to keep up the pace."

The moustache hid much of Willoughby's expression. "Does the rest of the team agree?"

"No, sir," Tasha replied, "I think we need to communicate more and be craftier. Surprise them. They're playing smarter and better than we are, and we have to come up to the mark."

Willoughby nodded. "Drex?"

"I'm getting tired. I hit Jackson; he hits me back harder, and Peg's already on the other side. It's not working."

"Miapaogo?"

She spoke in a soft monotone. "I'm not getting enough backup, sir. Everybody is all jammed up when the ball turns over. Peg is a lot taller than me – when we go head-to-head, she's able to stretch around me to score. If I could block, steal, and pass, it'd be better, but the rest of the team gets tied up with the other defender."

"Okay, folks. Let's talk teamwork."

Tasha kept her attention on the coach, but she didn't miss the daggers shooting from Park's eyes.

Tasha was more satisfied with her team in the third quarter. They were working together more, and they were better coordinated, but they were still trailing. The point deficit would contract and then expand again, and just when they had finally tied it up, Peg and Jackson made a series of passes and scores that put them in the lead again. Even with help from the coaches, the blue team was still being outplayed. By the middle of the fourth quarter, Tasha felt desperate. She needed to do something spectacular.

They had abandoned the three-on-one scheme for getting past Worf – it left Kailahni too vulnerable to Peg's lightning-fast rebound and rush for the other side. It was difficult to get the ball past the fierce Klingon. The two teams were massed at the bottom red square, with Drexel waiting above to block a counterattack. Park had the ball and stood up to a body check from Jackson. "Pass!" Tasha shouted. The ball shot into her ion mallet and she spun and ran up the ramp.

"Wrong direction!" Drexel yelled. Tasha passed to him. "What? We have to score the bottom–" Both teams were momentarily confused. They all ran to follow the ball. Tasha gestured for Drexel to pass it back. He did, and she took off, skirting past the other players, straight back to the enemy home wicket. Bobby spun and tried to check her – she pushed back and his momentum took him down to the stage. Tasha's last obstacle was Worf, standing with his legs wide apart and his hands low. Quick as a wink, Tasha used the bouncing resistance of the ramp to turn a one-handed handspring and shot the ball upside-down in midair, where it zoomed through Worf's legs and into the wicket.

It brought the game to a standstill. The cadets in the stands were whistling and hollering as loud as if there were a hundred of them. The other players were open-mouthed. Bobby was hitting Jackson's back and yelling, "Did you see that? Did you see that?" over and over again.

"The clock is still running down, cadets!" Coach Willoughby yelled over the din.

Drexel walked to the wicket past a stunned Worf and rebounded the ball, then tapped Tasha on her bottom. "Unbelievable." The game slowly resumed, but concentration was shot for both teams. Peg seemed to pull it together the fastest, keeping up a chatter to her team in counterpoint to the coaches' directions. By the final buzzer, her red team had taken the victory by four points. The teams walked off to deafening cheers – it had been the most exciting game of the tryouts.

After all of the finalists had played, the coach dismissed them to shower and change and wait for the final results. The women's locker room was eerily silent, save for the vibrations of the sonic showers and the hum of hair dryers. Tasha got dressed as quickly as she could. The tension in the air was as thick as the steam.

She climbed to the topmost row of the stands and lay face-up along a bench. Her stomach was still fluttery, as much as it had been before any of the games. Tasha knew that she would be devastated if she didn't make the team. She was trying to convince herself not to care one way or the other, but she knew it would hurt to fail.

The coaches finally returned, and the freshly washed cadets fell silent once more. Tasha came down to the lower rows of the stands with the others.

"Listen up, people. I want to thank everyone for trying out. Only half of you will make the team. I encourage you to keep playing, no matter what the outcome. You all made a fine showing." Coach Willoughby cleared his throat. "I'll begin with the eight alternates. All alternates will play two positions. When I call your name, form up behind me. Save the applause."

The coach reeled through the names, and the students ran down to form a half-circle behind him as they were called. When he called Warren's name, the senior mouthed a choice word before forming up with the others.

"Next, I'll announce the 2357 team captain. She's showed her leadership and expertise throughout the trials, and will act as student director for the duration of the season. Cadet First Class Peg Miller."

The students cheered as the tall redhead strode down to join the coach. He clapped a hand on her shoulder, and the assistant coaches pumped her hand in turn. Tasha snuck a look at Park; she was not applauding, and her jaw was set in a hard line.

"Now for the B team. These four players will train with the A team, and will travel to all games, to replace a player in the event of illness or injury."

Tasha held her breath.

"Forward – Cadet First Class Park. Guard – Cadet First Class Drexel. Center – Cadet First Class Roberts. Defender – Cadet Second Class Miapaogo."

The four students joined the coach. Tasha tried to catch Worf's eyes, but he was staring straight ahead. She felt like her heart had stopped and all of the air had gone out of the room.

"And now for the A team, who will represent the Academy in the triple-A division. Forward is Peg Miller, of course. Guard – Cadet First Class Jackson. Center – Cadet Third Class Yar."

It took every molecule of Tasha's control not to jump up and down and scream for joy. She bounded down to join the others.

"And for the first time in 50 years, a freshman will play for the A team. And for the first time ever, Starfleet Academy will be represented by a Klingon. Defender – Cadet Fourth Class Worf."

Worf walked over like a conquering hero, his face a stoic mask, but Tasha could see the light dancing in his dark eyes.

"Cadets – this is your 2357-2358 parrises squares team. Make some noise for them."

Four days of tension were released into shouts and stomping. The new teams congratulated each other, and Tasha found herself crushed in hugs and chest bumps. A chant of "Star-fleet! Star-fleet!" coalesced and ended in more cheers. The coach finally broke up the celebration.

"Okay, okay! Get some rest. Do your homework. Practice begins Monday. Check your schedule for time and location. Good job, everyone. Dismissed."

Tasha was far from ready to go. She grabbed Worf's hand and looked him in the eyes, grinning at him until he finally returned her smile. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to face Bobby, who wore a mocking smile.

"You beat me, Yar. I think the gymnastics clinched it."

Tasha didn't know what to say. She wasn't sorry….

"Aw, forget it," Bobby went on. "I'll just poison your food. Listen, we're going out tonight to celebrate. You two have to come with. We're teammates now."

"Yeah, it's mandatory bonding time," Peg put in, throwing her arm around Bobby's shoulder. "We're going into town at 2200 hours. No buts."

Tasha looked from the two seniors to Worf. He was inscrutable. "Okay, sure. See you then."

As the cadets finally began to leave the arena, Worf growled low in his throat. "I will not engage in any dishonorable actions, Cadet Yar."

"Don't worry, Worf. I won't let anything happen to you."

Tasha held a straight face at the Klingon's incredulous look for a few seconds before she giggled. She pounded his shoulder with her fist. "C'mon, let's go. I'm going to take the best nap ever. Whoo!" She let out a yell and punched the air. It was the happiest she'd felt in a long time.


	21. Chapter 21

Nikolai was home when Worf returned to his room. "And just where have you been?" he asked facetiously.

"Today was the final day of parrises squares tryouts. I have won a place on the team by defeating over a hundred cadets," Worf replied seriously.

"Ugh, I don't see the appeal of that violent game. Can't understand why people get into it. Still, I'm sure the parents will be oh so proud."

Worf caught the sarcasm in Nikolai's last remark. "Have you told Mother and Father about your difficulties?"

"I wouldn't call my differences of opinion with the powers that be 'difficulties.' Anyway, no, I haven't. Have you?"

"No."

"Well, don't worry about it, Worf. It'll straighten itself out." Nikolai's genial expression turned serious. "Congratulations, brother."

"Thank you, Nikolai. I will write to our parents now."

"Give them my love."

* * *

><p>The city club scene that Worf and Tasha beamed into that night was a vivid contrast to the Academy campus. The people on the street were dressed to shock or titillate – even though the night air was chilling, bare chests and long legs in high-heeled boots were on display under glittery poufs of fabric and low-necked shiny shirts. Men and women wore monochromatic tights and platform shoes under shorts that barely qualified as outerwear. The two cadets exchanged nervous looks.<p>

"Mandatory bonding," Worf reminded Tasha.

"Does that mean going straight home is out?"

They stepped off the transporter platform and made their way up a steep sidewalk. The directions Peg had sent led them away from the carnival crowd and into a quiet side street. They entered what seemed a neighborhood bar; the patrons within were dressed in everyday clothes, and a good number of red uniforms dotted the crowd.

Worf and Tasha took two seats at an empty table and ordered synthale from the server who approached them. She gave Worf an apprehensive look over her shoulder as she walked away. The two cadets took in the scenery without talking. There was a tiny, crowded dance floor, a few meters of tightly packed bodies around a DJ booth. Park and Jackson were wedged in the middle, the two tall students easy to spot in the mass. Kailahni was standing with her back to the bar, nodding her head to the music next to Drexel, who had a stein in one hand and a shot glass in the other.

"Hey, you made it!" Bobby and Peg took two empty seats at the table and set down their half-full glasses. "There's a dom-jot table free – wanna play?" Bobby asked.

Tasha and Worf exchanged looks. "Don't know how," Tasha replied.

"I can teach you."

"Right! By that, he means he'll trounce you whilst making pithy remarks." Peg drained her glass at one go and signaled the server.

"Doesn't that sound fun?" Bobby asked with faux enthusiasm.

Park and Jackson joined them and greeted the newcomers. Tasha looked for signs of the animosity that had bubbled between the women for days, but it seemed to have been completely buried. When the server appeared, Park ordered, "A big glass of water. Huge. Biggest you got."

"There are so many hot guys here," Jackson remarked. "My dream job is to stay at the Academy and live in San Francisco forever."

"With a never-ending parade of freshmen boys to work over," added Bobby.

"That's his real dream job," Peg teased.

"And groupies," added Park. "Don't forget the groupies."

Tasha and Worf shared confounded looks. "Groupies?" they asked simultaneously.

"Y'know, fans," Peg replied.

"People who like athletes," Park went on.

"People who hang around locker rooms after games because they _really _like athletes," Bobby added.

Comprehension brought a quiet "ohhh" from Tasha and a severe glare from Worf.

"Ah, don't look like that," Jackson huffed. "It's harmless fun."

Worf grew more disapproving. "A Klingon warrior does not mate unless he intends to take the oath."

Peg shrugged. "To each his own."

"Whoa, hold on a sec," Park interjected. "Worf, are you saying you're waiting for marriage?"

All eyes turned to the Klingon. He didn't answer; instead, he glared at each cadet, daring them to go on with the conversation.

No one took up his unspoken challenge.

"Ah, this song is my jam. C'mon, surly girl." Jackson grabbed Park's arm and dragged her back to the dance floor.

"D'you wanna dance?" Bobby asked Tasha.

"Uh . . . I don't dance."

"C'mon, who cares? Park can't dance, but that's not stopping her."

They all looked over at the dance floor. Tasha had enough rhythmic awareness to see that the long-limbed girl's flailing movements followed no beat that anyone could hear, though she did look like she was enjoying herself.

"Uh…"

"Cadet Yar does not wish to dance," Worf asserted flatly.

Bobby curtailed his motion to take Tasha's hand. "Point taken." He got up from the table outwardly unruffled, and joined Park and Jackson on the miniature dance floor. Bobby danced between them with exaggerated suggestiveness, prompting Park to push him away and laughter from Jackson that they could hear over the music.

Peg gestured for Kailahni and Drexel to join them. "You two need to loosen up, have some fun," she said to Tasha and Worf.

"Humans put a great deal of importance on fun," Worf replied. "Klingons are not concerned with frivolity."

"Whatever, mate. I take that as a personal challenge. If we don't get that cherry popped by the end of the year, I'll eat my hat."

To Worf, it was as if his universal translator had suddenly stopped working. Peg turned her attention to Drexel and Kailahni as they sat down. Worf turned his to his synthehol.

* * *

><p>The night dragged for Tasha. The music was too loud for real conversation, and she started to feel antsy, just sitting, sipping her drink, and watching her new teammates. Bobby was at the dom-jot table, and a small crowd of cadets had gathered to cheer him on against a stranger. He winked at Tasha and accompanied the thrust of his cue with a vaudevillian grind and bump. Peg heckled him from the sidelines. Jackson and Park were still dancing, and Tasha wondered where they found the energy, after the grueling past four days. Drexel and Kailahni had gone back to standing with their backs to the bar, silently watching the action as if it were a holo-video.<p>

Tasha listlessly turned away the server's third offer to refill her glass. "Tell me how this is fun?" she asked Worf.

"I do not pretend to understand all human rituals," he replied. He looked around, faintly dispirited. "Duty has been served. Let's go."

"Yes, let's." They pantomimed goodbyes to the others and threaded their way to the door. "Freshman curfew's at midnight, anyway."

Outside, the club hoppers were out in full force. The uniformed duo drew some drunken attention; Worf's ferocious appearance drew even more. After a group of loudly dressed teenagers made a show of screaming and running away in mock fear, Tasha guided them away from the main street. "They're just ignorant kids, Worf. Ignore them."

"It is nothing new," he said succinctly.

They walked without speaking for a minute, music from the open doorways a street over muffled in the foggy air. They braced themselves down a steep incline, Tasha's calves and shins aching from the time they'd spent on ramps during the tryouts. "Maybe Peg's right, and we don't know how to have fun."

"If fun is the type of activities I deplore in my brother, then I will proudly say that is true."

Tasha wondered if she was brave enough to ask the question that niggled at her mind. She still had a bit of a buzz going – she went for it. "Worf, are you really a virgin?"

He met her eyes unflinchingly. "Yes."

"Oh." Tasha's eyes went far away. With a friend like Worf back on the colony, maybe things would have been different. She was certain that he would have been tough, even as a child. "That's nice."

"You?"

She came back to the present with a shiver. "No. Didn't really have a choice where I grew up. It was . . . it was . . . not a nice place."

They had nearly reached the transporter center. Worf stopped her with a hand on her arm. "You are safe now."

Tasha held his forearm in turn, strong and thick as a tree trunk under her fingers. "Yeah."

They let go and walked together to the platform.


	22. Chapter 22

The lecture in Physics of Weapons and Tactics class battled for Tasha's attention with her thoughts on the first parrises squares practice the previous evening. As puzzling as she found her teammates off the stage, on the stage, they were refreshingly predictable. They all played with equal doses of skill, vigor, and heart, and it had been fun. Real fun – the kind that made her feel uplifted and energized afterwards. She replayed the best moments of the practice in her mind.

"Oh, Mr. Yaaa-aaaaar," the professor's drawn-out song of her name snapped Tasha back to reality. The class laughed. "Are you with us, Cadet?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Glad to hear it. Perhaps you can answer my question?"

Tasha felt heat creep up her neck. "Say again, sir?"

He gave her a patronizing smile. "Name an unorthodox evasion tactic from the reading."

Tasha blinked. "The Picard Manuever, sir."

"Very good. Think you can grace us with your attention for the remainder of the class? Mr. Franklin, can you describe the Picard Manuever in your own words?"

Tasha felt the flush reach her face. She tapped her padd and brought up the citation in question – a picture of Capt. Picard accompanied the description of his ingenious actions as a helmsman on the USS Stargazer. The thoughtful eyes in an aristocratic face seemed to look out at her, telling her not to feel embarrassed.

Two classmates beside her must have pulled up the same article; they were whispering back and forth about the image.

"He's hot."

"He's old. Like, old enough to be your dad."

"Psshht. Whatever. I'd do him."

"He's a captain, you perv."

"So? Captains do it, too, y'know."

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, cadets?" the professor asked, faced away from them as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

"No, sir!" the two girls responded simultaneously.

"Then, Mr. Maxwell, perhaps you can give us another example from the reading."

Tasha smiled as the flustered student wracked her brain. Inwardly, Tasha found the captain's distinguished face handsome, attractive even. In a bald older man kind of way.

* * *

><p>Applause greeted Worf and Tasha in the hand-to-hand combat class the next morning. The team results had been published in the Academy journal on Monday, but it must have taken Prof. Fujihito a few days to arrange for the rest of the class to arrive earlier than the two motivated students. "Congratulations on making the team," he said. "Make us proud."<p>

"Thank you, sir," Worf and Tasha replied.

"And be sure to beat the team from Minsk. They've gotten the best of that rivalry for the past few years. I'd like to see them taken down a peg. All right, class, we continue with our unit today – disarming an opponent. Choose a partner and let's get to it."

Tasha and Worf turned to face each other. As much time as they were spending together, neither one seemed to tire of the other's company. Tasha found it restful to be with Worf. The unceasing voice of scrutiny in her head, that questioned every move she made and every word she said, could quiet. Worf seemed to have no expectations of her that fell outside of her ability. With most people from Earth, second looks were the first warning flags that she had strayed outside the behavioral norm, that she didn't fit in. Worf garnered just as many looks and stares, if not more. They didn't seem to bother him. The differences between Worf and the mostly human cadets were both external and internal. It took people longer to discover that Tasha wasn't exactly one of them.

To the credit of her peers and professors, they accepted her regardless. The Federation credo emphasized tolerance. But it wasn't a conscious effort on Worf's part – he didn't just tolerate her. Worf was the first person at the Academy who didn't make Tasha second-guess herself.

Not so her new teammates. In the locker room after practice one day, the others were discussing weekend plans.

"Coming out with us on Saturday, Yar?" Peg asked, pulling her undershirt over her head and shaking out her red curls.

Tasha hesitated. "I don't know. I have a few hours to make up in the sim lab. First flight test is next week."

"You better have fun while you can," Park shouted over the hairdryer. "Once games start, you can kiss your weekends goodbye."

_Won't the games be fun? _Tasha wondered. She wasn't sure what to say. She towel dried her hair – it took under a minute, as short as it was.

"Oi, Samoa, why don't you take after Yar and cut your hair? Then you wouldn't have to wear that silly bathing cap," Peg remarked.

Kailahni was uncoiling her hair from atop her head. The braid fell to her elbow. She looked at Peg and shrugged.

"Worf and Jackson have long hair, too," Tasha pointed out. "Worf says Klingons wear long hair as a sign of bravery."

Kailahni smiled shyly at Tasha, and Tasha smiled back.

"I would grow mine long, if it would grow down instead of out like a giant ginger mushroom," Peg said.

"Then we might mistake you for the ball." Park aimed her mallet at Peg's head.

"Still couldn't score with me." Peg smacked the mallet away.

"You're not my type, anyway."

"Too bright? Remember that lot on Rigel IV? 'You look good in that uniform, but it'd look better on my floor.' Can't believe that worked for you."

"I didn't plan to discuss the finer points of warp theory with him, Peg." Park flipped her mallet and caught it, then stowed it in her bag.

"Too beautiful?" Peg went on, finger combing her hair.

"Too bossy."

Peg grinned. "C'mon, you know you're loving taking orders from me."

There was not a sound as the playful smile fled from Park's expression. Kailahni looked at Tasha and gave a let's go jerk of the head. Tasha shouldered her bag and followed behind.

Outside, the boys were waiting for them. "Hungry! Need food." Bobby mimed dragging his knuckles on the ground.

Park came through the door and Bobby pounced on her. "Hungry for spicy Korean!" He grabbed her and pretended to take a bite from her neck.

"Get off, you turd!" she yelled, shoving him.

Drexel and Kailahni shared a look and walked away. Worf waited with folded arms.

"Why's everyone in such a bad mood? It's almost the weekend. Maybe we'll go dancing." Bobby grabbed Tasha by the waist and began to drag her around in a demented waltz. "Doo doooo doo dum dum, doot doot, doot doot." She giggled and he bent her into an exaggerated dip, covered her mouth with one hand, swooped down and planted a kiss on the back. "Mwah!" He looked straight into her eyes. "I'm still hungry."

He straightened her up and Tasha let him. Bobby was so silly, she didn't mind his roughhousing, but for a brief flash, she thought he looked serious. "So let's go eat."

"Thought you'd never ask." Bobby grabbed her again and growled, his teeth on her neck. Tasha squealed and pushed him away.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "What's keeping Peg?" He strode off, back into the sports center.

Park grumbled something under her breath.

"What's that? False words against our fearless leader?" Bobby put a finger under his nose as a moustache. "Aarrr! Avast, ye mutineers! Have at thee!" He took an invisible sword from its scabbard and waited en garde.

Park tried to keep a straight face as he capered around her making clashing sounds with his mouth, but she finally broke into a laugh. "Jeez, you're so _manic _when you're hungry. Let's just go, or Drex and Kailahni'll be done by the time we leave."

"Yes. Food now." Worf walked off without waiting any longer.

Bobby saluted Tasha with his nonexistent sword. "Twas cold steel turned the tide, fair maiden." He offered her his arm.

Tasha waved him away with a laugh. "I'm no fair maiden." She hurried to catch up with Worf.

Bobby waited a moment, watching her. "Fair as the morning," he said quietly. Then, with a few quick steps, he dashed up to Park. "Shiver me timbers! Feel the point of my blade!" He poked her in the butt with his bag.

Park yelled in exasperation. "Don't make me show you what I learned in combat class today, Roberts!"

* * *

><p>Nikolai was studying at his desk when Worf got back to the dorm. It was quiet, and Nikolai didn't look up as Worf entered. Something felt wrong.<p>

"Is everything all right, brother?" Worf asked.

Silence filled the room again before Nikolai answered without raising his head. "Is the sight of me working so shocking? I'm not a stranger to studying, you know."

A slight hitch in his voice brought a realization to Worf – Nikolai had been crying. It was a human reaction to distress. "What has happened?"

Nikolai continued to look down. "I received a letter – a progress report. I have to meet with an advisor about my status as a student."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, but that's what the letter said – that my status could be in jeopardy." Nikolai rubbed his forehead. "I just don't understand. Everyone says that college is the best time of your life, the most exciting time. Yet, everywhere I turn, I get a stop sign. Can't do this, can't do that. The Academy is supposed to be this great opportunity. It's supposed to open up the galaxy to me. Instead, I feel like I'm in a cage."

Worf listened without interrupting. He felt for his brother, but he wasn't sure what he could say without furthering his brother's shame.

"Everyone was so impressed when I got in. It's an honor, right? It's so difficult – they turn away as many worthy candidates as they accept.

I thought getting in was the hard part." Nikolai finally looked up at Worf. The Klingon could see the unshed tears shining in his brother's eyes. "Mother and Father were so pleased. Just once, I thought I was going to be the one to make them proud. Not Worf, the perfect son."

It wasn't the first time he'd shot that barb. It didn't hit home – it had long ago lost its sting. "There is no need for us to compete, Nikolai. You must find your own destiny."

Nikolai scrubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes. "That's just the thing. I have no idea what I want. I want to make them happy, sure. But what about me? What about my happiness?"

"I cannot answer that for you," Worf said gravely.

Nikolai sighed. "No, of course not. I suppose no one can."


	23. Chapter 23

The first game was on Mars Colony III, against the university there. It was decided that the coaches would beam to an orbiting executive shuttle, while the team would travel in a cargo transport. The cadets waited in the passenger hold while the crew checked their safety harnesses.

"How about Kai?" Peg was asking.

"That's a boy's name where I'm from," Kailahni answered in her soft monotone.

"How 'bout Lahni?"

"What's wrong with my name?"

"It's a mouthful, that's what. You know how long it takes to say, 'Look out, Kailahni!' during a game?"

"I won't play unless Worf gets hurt."

They looked over at the Klingon, who bared his teeth reflexively as the crewman tightened his lap belt. "Human names are too long in general."

"You just use one name on the homeworld, right?" asked Tasha.

"Yes."

"But your brother's last name is Rozhenko."

"My adoptive parents honor the Klingon tradition. I am Worf, son of Mogh. That's all."

"How 'bout Kaili?" Peg asked, undeterred.

"Okay, cadets, listen up," the pilot's voice said over the comm. "This is nothing like flying in space. You're going to be feeling the g-forces until we break atmo, so I suggest you brace for it. Tensing up your abdomen and your leg muscles will help. Open your mouth and keep breathing and if you need to, close your eyes."

Park turned her head the little that the harness would allow. "What's up, Bobby? You're as quiet as Drexel. You scared?"

Bobby shot her a mocking look she couldn't see. "I'm intelligent. How come we aren't beaming to a shuttle?"

"I think this is one of those character-building moments Coach is so fond of talking about."

"I've got plenty of character already," Bobby muttered.

Drexel seemed to be asleep. Johnson tried to free a braid caught between the harness and his seat, to no effect. It tugged painfully at his scalp. "I can't wait for this to be over. Let's just get there already."

As if in obedience, the pilot announced liftoff. Tasha braced herself, but nothing could have prepared her for the feeling as the transport ship rocketed from the launch pad. She felt the wind knocked out of her as if a giant flatiron were mashing her down. She knew intellectually that it was just the tremendous pull of gravity on her body, but that didn't stop her life from flashing before her eyes. She opened her mouth and breathed hard, squeezing her gut and leg muscles and fighting the urge to scream.

In a flash, the pressure was gone, her blood began to circulate normally, and even without windows, she knew they were in space and the inertial damping field and artificial gravity had kicked in. The pilot gave the all clear to release their harnesses. The latches clicked open one by one and Jackson pulled the rogue braid free with a sigh of relief. "Girl, I just aged a year," he said to Peg.

"How 'bout Kaila?" she asked, completely unfazed.

* * *

><p>The arena was a state-of-the-art facility. The cadets had changed in the spotlessly clean stalls of a spacious private room stocked with fresh fruit and nutritional drinks and decorated with flowers in baskets. It made up somewhat for the utilitarian flight over.<p>

Spectators packed the stands for the first weekend of collegiate competition. There were cheers from the visitor's side as the team walked out and lined up in front of the onramp, the loudest coming from the bench where their four teammates sat. Tasha stared at Jackson's muscular back, her mind a-flurry. For a moment, a hundred passing worries assaulted her at once: the math exam on Monday, her counseling session two days before, the new barber who'd buzzed her hair practically off, the faint hum of her ion mallet, louder than usual - what if it malfunctioned? - the apple sitting like a rock in her stomach, her dry throat, the pep talk Peg had given them moments before, the blood rushing in her veins. Worf liked to say _listen to the call of your blood._ She tried to follow his advice, becoming hyperaware of her body's rhythms. She could feel her pulse slowing. She didn't look back, but she could feel Worf's presence behind her, a tall, monolithic reassurance.

The warning beeps and the buzzer went off, and the team raced up the ramp to the roar of the crowd.

The first real game passed like a blur. Both teams suffered new season jitters, but the cadets found their rhythm first. It was both easier and harder than a practice game: though the opposing team reacted in unexpected ways, they weren't as skillful as the B team. It was a high-scoring game, both teams getting reckless and loose in the second half as the Academy pulled far ahead on the scoreboard, but the element of fun remained. The visitors led 96-76 at the final buzzer, and the home team graciously shook their hands.

"Good game!" the home guard said as he pumped Tasha's hand.

"Likewise."

The cadets waved to the visitor's section in the stands and got one more cheer before the filed off the stage. There were more congratulations from the rest of the team as they shed helmets and toweled off at the bench. Coach Willoughby cut them short. "All right, all right, cadets. Good job. Let's hit the clubhouse for some notes."

In a short time, the students were heading to the launch pad for the return trip. It felt almost anticlimactic to Tasha. "It all went by so fast," she said. "Is it always that way?"

Peg threw an arm around her shoulder. "Not all the time. Sometimes it drags – especially when you're losing."

Bobby sidled up and draped his arm over the other side. "Just imagine watching. Can't you be nice and break something next time, Yar?" He winked at Peg. "I think she broke her leg – basket carry!" They scooped her up between them and took off running for the cargo ship, ignoring Tasha's protests.

Worf turned to Drexel and Kailahni, who walked beside him. They both shrugged wordlessly.

Peg and Bobby finally obeyed Tasha's shouts and set her down. "You're infants," she grumbled, smoothing down her uniform.

"Goo goo ga ga." Bobby reached for Tasha's shorn head but hesitated at her glare. "May I?" She shrugged and looked away as he ran a hand over the buzz cut that hugged her skull, an asymmetrical yellow slash of bangs the only long hair left on her head. "Shorter than mine."

Peg walked on to the ship. The others hadn't caught up yet, and Bobby hadn't stopped touching Tasha, his fingers drifting lower to the nape of her neck, fluttering over her skin. She captured his wrist. "Quit it." She held on longer than she meant to. A half-smile quirked the corner of his mouth. He held her gaze, the harsh red light of the setting sun playing in his green eyes.

"What are you waiting for?" Park's acid voice broke the reverie, and Tasha realized she was still holding Bobby's wrist. She dropped it, all nervous energy again, and set off for the ship at a jog.

* * *

><p>Discipline achieved new heights in Tasha's life. Her days were scheduled to the minute: classes, study, practice, sleep and meals all accounted for in rigid slots on her padd. She slept as soon as her head touched the pillow every night, the pounding of athletic shoes on the bouncing stage echoing in her mind. Each day passed more quickly than the one before, with schoolwork like a constantly replenished watermill sluicing over her.<p>

She spent many of her hours with Worf, whether in class or at practice, at the gym, or running laps on the grounds: he was always there, like a large alien shadow. They took meals together outside in the quad, the microclimates of San Francisco making October warmer than August. They'd sit in the manicured grass, people-watching, then look at each other at the same moment and know they were sharing the same thought. A few words aloud were all that was needed to confirm. They were so often together, before long, words were superfluous. Without even a gesture, they'd both get up, toss trash in the solar-powered composter, and head for the gym or the study center. They were teammates, sparring partners, study partners, and constant companions. Tasha wondered if they weren't actually the same person in two different bodies sharing one brain.

A source of delight and worry to both of them was the winning streak the team was building up. After two home games and another away game, their record was 4-0 and they were starting to feel spooked. They were preparing for an away game at the farthest destination yet: Altair VI, which would necessitate an overnight stay. A large group of cadets had arranged to travel along – the team would have a cheering section, and an added sense of pressure. Sitting in the lounge onboard the starship that would carry them there, Tasha and Worf both took out their homework. Jackson looked at them skeptically. "I don't know how you two can concentrate."

"I can't," admitted Tasha. "I'm just going through the motions. It's word problems for Physics of Matter Dispersal. I just have to complete so many."

"I have an Evolutionary Flora test on Monday, but if I try to study now, it'll be like pouring water in a sieve," said Bobby.

"Make like Drexel and kip the whole way there. That'll calm your noggin," Peg offered.

Tasha and Worf shared a look – sometimes, they understood only half of what Peg said.

Kailahni had her head on Drexel's shoulder, slumped next to him on a couch, and looked nearly asleep herself. Tasha wished she could follow their example – in a few more hours, they'd face their toughest opponent so far. The Altairian team had knocked the Academy out of quarterfinals the previous year, and like them, had retained several of the same upperclassmen on the team. They had a 3-1 record. Tasha tried to focus on her homework.

"Hey, Yar," Park broke in on her concentration. "You're from Turkana IV, right?"

Tasha was instantly on her guard. She felt, almost without seeing, that Worf was listening warily, too. "Yeah. So?"

"So…are the stories about it true?"

Tasha stared down the older girl. "What stories?"

"That it's total anarchy, like a three-hundred-year-old throwback. That they seceded from the Federation." Park's eyes were glittering. The other cadets perked up and waited for Tasha to answer.

"Those aren't stories; they're statements of fact."

"So, how'd you end up here? How'd you even get into the Academy?"

Tasha was thrown for a loop. Park reminded her of a snake at the zoo – you couldn't see the danger until someone pointed out the coiled up animal hiding in plain view, ready to strike, only a transparent wall for protection from its lethal instincts. She swallowed hard and felt her ears getting hot.

"There is only one way into the Academy," came Worf's gruff voice. "Passing a battery of tests."

Park was relentless. "What was it like there? Did you see any of the fighting? Did you ever have to fight somebody? Or kill somebody?"

Worf looked ready to kill someone himself. Tasha still hadn't made a sound, her mouth slightly open, but no words formed.

"I was thinking of getting a new ion mallet." Bobby's voice was loud in the silence.

"What, now? After the season's begun?" Peg demanded.

"There's a new model – have you seen it? You reverse the charge with a thumb slide. It's supposed to be foolproof against misfires."

"Bobby, that's not a good idea," Jackson countered. "You know what Coach says – switching polarity shouldn't take up brain waves. It has to be automatic."

"Yeah, but I tried one out at the arena last weekend. The balance was incredible."

"You want to talk balance? The X-100 model I use is as light as a violin bow. It's like an extension of my arm," said Park.

With that, the cadets revealed that they were all gear-heads, and started a lively debate about their equipment. Even Kailahni sat up and joined in. Tasha mouthed a silent thank you to Bobby. He winked back and stared into her eyes, sandy, uneven lashes half-lowered. She looked away first, turning back to her homework, but still felt his eyes on her. Her concentration was well and truly shot.


	24. Chapter 24

The Altairian team was a challenging adversary – aggressive and crafty. They led after the first quarter. The Academy team huddled with the head coach during the break.

"Any insights for us?" Peg asked.

"Hope you have some tricks up your sleeve," Willoughby replied.

"They're fast. They don't really stop and think – they just move, move, move," said Tasha.

"Think they can keep that up?" asked Peg.

"Not if they're human," answered Jackson. "If we conserve our energy, we might win with a surge in the second half."

"Or they might be rested after the break," Worf countered.

"You're playing well, team," the coach assured them. "Talk to each other and stay alert. Peg, keep an eye out for vulnerabilities. Search for patterns in their plays. First step is to throw them off their rhythm."

They played with renewed intention in the second quarter. The cadets focused less on scoring and more on disrupting the high energy of the other team. They passed the ball endlessly, forcing the other players to chase them, before breaking away, moving to score on the least likely wicket. First, the Altairians grew more cautious, and then took more risks as they battled to regain control. Their energy showed signs of waning in the third quarter. The score was close – the cadets were within two points of tying. The stands rocked with shouts of "De-fense!" from the home side and "Star-fleet!" from the visitors. Heads-up blocking from Tasha and Jackson gave Peg the chance to make her signature move – a lightning fast rebound and charge for the enemy home wicket. The spectators erupted as she faced off with the defender. Three balletic feints, and the ball shot home. A roar went up from the visitor's side as the scoreboard showed the tie.

Both teams began to play more aggressively. The fans were on their feet, the pace of the game furious, until a tremendous collision at the top square sent Jackson hurtling into the safety barrier with a resounding crack. Hundreds of gasps coalesced as he toppled over and crashed to the ramp two meters below.

"Medic!" Coach Willoughby yelled while the referees blew their whistles. There was a rush of activity – the home coach demanded to see a replay of the collision, a medical team rushed on to check the dazed Jackson, and the B team huddled with the assistant coaches. Worf joined the others at the top square; they all watched nervously as the doctor held two fingers up in front of Jackson's face and moved a forefinger back and forth. In another minute, the tall guard staggered to his feet and was assisted off by two medics. Applause went out from the crowd.

"Drexel, you're in!" Willoughby bellowed. The young man was already strapping the helmet on his shaved head and adjusting his pads.

The ref blew a blast on her whistle. "Personal foul – Altair: minus four points. Players take opening positions."

The teams stomped down the ramps. The change was announced over the loudspeaker. "For Cadet First Class Ezekiel Jackson: Cadet First Class Howard Drexel."

They huddled with Drexel, resolute purpose in their tight stance. "Don't play for revenge," Peg warned, but her eyes were blazing. They broke and Peg signaled the ref that they were ready.

The audience hadn't heard Peg's admonition – they were clearly out for blood. Part of the appeal of parrises squares was the violence. Though Tasha knew the risks of playing the dangerous game, it had still chilled her to see Jackson hobble out, his muscular body dwarfing the medical assistants that supported him. A fall off the ramp could cause a serious or fatal injury.

The four of them had laser beam focus. Drexel fit in perfectly; they practiced together too often for him not to. The crowd watched every play, and as the cadets drove hard, the Altairians began to flag. The point margin widened little by little, until the Academy's victory was assured, even after a last-minute rally from their opponents. The final buzzer, and their winning streak had extended to 5-0. The cadets in the stands went wild.

For the first time, Tasha encountered a crowd of admirers outside the locker room. A student journalist took a statement from a cool, collected Peg, while a mass of strangers offered pats on the back and handshakes. It was overwhelming – Tasha wanted to find out if Jackson was okay and then go study in the hotel room, but there was no chance of it. She was swept along to an afterparty like a seashell dragged out by the tide.

The students congregated at a nearby watering hole. Tasha found Worf and made her way to him like a castaway swimming for a buoy. "Worf! Do you know where we're staying?"

"No. Someone took our bags there. That's all I know."

Peg emerged from the crowd and clapped her hands on their shoulders. "Jackson's going to be all right. They're just holding him for observation at the hospital overnight."

"That's good news," Tasha sighed.

"So relax! Have some fun." Peg grabbed two steins from a passing server. "Plenty of time for homework tomorrow."

Tasha and Worf accepted the mugs and with a shrug, clinked them together. They had reason enough to celebrate.

And celebrate they did. It was as if the release from her tightly regimented schedule had opened the floodgates for Tasha. She drank much more than she intended to, and synthehol notwithstanding, began to feel the effects. She let a group of equally inebriated students drag her to stand with them on a table and sing chorus after chorus of _What Shall We Do with a Drunken Sailor_?, the verses becoming more profane as the song went on. Worf had a more robust tolerance and kept a wary eye on her as she grew increasingly gregarious.

After the bar closed, the party moved its way to the hotel where the team was staying. Worf had had enough carousing and shut his door firmly in the faces of the partiers.

"Hey, my stuff's in there, too!" yelled Drexel, pounding on the door.

"Shut up or we'll all get kicked out," Park snapped.

"Come back to my room," Peg offered.

Her room was also Tasha's room. Park fiddled with the broadcast signal on the entertainment center until she found dance music. Within seconds, she had gathered a crowd of admirers and dance partners. Tasha sat on the floor, her back to one of the two double beds that faced each other, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, students sprawled out on the floor in a jumble of arms and legs. They were boisterous and much friendlier than any group she'd been around before, she was sure. Peg lay on the opposite bed, and Bobby wedged himself beside Tasha, trading stories with the team captain about games the year before. Either Bobby was particularly funny, or Tasha was particularly drunk, but she found herself laughing with abandon. At some point, she noticed that she was sitting very close to him, practically on top of him. It felt comfortable. She relaxed and let the room spin around her.

She realized that she must have dozed off when she woke up with her head on Bobby's shoulder. The party had thinned out considerably. Peg was asleep facedown on the bed. Park's dancing group had dwindled to one other couple and a dance partner with whom she was getting very friendly. Tasha squinted at the shadowy far corner of the room, where Drexel and Kailahni appeared to be making out. She was and wasn't surprised.

"Sleeping Beauty's awake." Bobby's voice was soft and low in her ear. She lifted her head and found herself almost nose to nose with him.

"So it's that kind of party," she murmured.

In another moment, the space between them had disappeared and he was kissing her and pushing her down to the floor. The shock of it pierced her synthehol haze. She pushed him off, not hard enough to hurt him, but with enough force to show she meant business. "Wait . . . what –"

"RIGHT!" Peg was sitting bolt upright on the bed. "Snogfest's over! Out, all of you!"

The remaining cadets skulked out of the room, Drexel and Kailahni side by side, Park with her arm draped around her erstwhile dance partner. Bobby and Tasha were frozen in their tangle on the floor.

"You too, Roberts. Out!"

Even in the dim light, Tasha could see that Bobby was beet red. He scrambled to his feet and nearly ran into the door in his hurry to leave.

Peg glared at Tasha, hands on her hips, hair standing up in two red peaks like the horns of a Valkyrie. It sent the younger girl over the edge, and Tasha started to laugh.

Peg rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless, Yar."

Tasha laughed even harder. Peg threw her arms up and flopped back down on the bed.

* * *

><p>Tasha was just drifting off to sleep when a rhythmic drumming caught her ear. She opened her eyes in the pitch darkness and squinted at the other bed. The steady rise and fall of the blanket told her that Peg was asleep.<p>

The drumming continued. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She threw off the blanket and padded barefoot to the window. She pulled back the curtain and jumped – Bobby's ghostly-pale face was right outside. She unlocked the window and pushed up the sash.

"What are you doing out there?" she whispered.

"I had to talk to you," he whispered back, craning to see Peg's bed behind her.

Tasha looked down. There was no balcony. "How did you –"

"There's a ledge. Come with me, please."

Tasha sighed, looking over her shoulder at Peg's sleeping form. She pushed the sash all the way up and stepped one leg through, then squeezed herself out, Bobby holding her firm and hanging onto the windowsill for support. She finally got two bare feet on the narrow ledge. "You're crazy. We're three stories up."

"Come on." They slid along the ledge, holding drainage pipes and planters to steady themselves, until they came to the next open window. Bobby crouched and put out a hand to give Tasha a boost, hanging on to the sill with the other. She stepped on his palm and went through headfirst, rolling through the fall, returning and pulling Bobby in. He kept his hands on her when they were safely inside. "I wanted to apologize. I feel like an ass."

A single reading lamp beside one of the double beds was the only illumination. Tasha gently shrugged his hands off her shoulders. "It's all right. We were both drunk."

"I'm not now. I didn't want to go back to school without saying anything. I shouldn't have taken advantage."

"You didn't. It's okay – it was just a moment."

Bobby winced. "Are you sure? I don't want you to think of me any differently."

The conversation was starting to make Tasha feel strange and tired. She sat down on the bed. She still had a pretty strong buzz going. "I don't know what I think of you."

Bobby sat beside her. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to think of anybody. I didn't have any friends where I grew up."

She saw the pity in his eyes and hardened immediately. "I hope I'm your friend," he replied.

She rubbed one sleepy eye. "Why wouldn't you be?"

"What I did tends to put strain on a friendship."

Tasha made a dismissive gesture. "That – it was nothing. Just forget about it."

"That's the problem." She opened both eyes at his serious tone. "I can't. Can't stop thinking about it. I'd been wanting to do it for so long."

It was flattering, but her sense of strangeness increased. Still, she was not unsusceptible to flattery. Her heart started to pound. "You did?"

He put a hand to her chin and turned her to face him. "Couldn't you tell?"

This time, his kiss was soft and gentle, tenuous enough for her to pull away if she wanted to. The synthehol mixed with the loneliness that she didn't even know was there, and brought to the fore of her consciousness a need for human touch. She kissed him back, felt his arms pull her closer and guide her down. They were alone; they were on a bed – things escalated before she realized what she was doing. She had her hands inside his tee shirt, his body a tight stack of wiry muscle from hours of conditioning. She was dressed for bed in the freshman year tee that had started out command red, but had been leeched to a grayish pink by hundreds of washings. She wasn't wearing a bra – she gasped and gritted her teeth when he touched her. He stopped and pushed himself up on one elbow – he was laying half on top of her. "Too much?"

"No, it's okay." She was starved for physical contact. He pulled his shirt off, and then hers, and the feeling of warm skin fed her hunger. She took it further, her hands in his loose sleep pants. He groaned and pushed her away with visible effort.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Her hormones were surging out of control, urging her on. "Yes."

"God, I hope so, 'cause I'm not going to be able to stop." He let her touch him then, and shivered like a newborn puppy as she did. She was shaking herself – it had been so long, almost a year, and desire was pushing her on, despite the glimmerings of the idea that perhaps this wasn't the best decision.

He was eager, insistent – his mouth was so much bigger than hers, and she broke off to wipe her face. "Jeez, you don't have to swallow me whole! Relax!"

"Sorry." He tried again to be gentle, but urgency soon took hold. He pushed her legs open with one knee. She thought about all the times their bodies had crashed together on the playing stage, panting and striving, and how meaningless it had been – it was just a game.

She shoved off the rest of her clothes. He followed suit, and looked in her eyes for one last confirmation. Consummation was quick. Too quick – suddenly, it was over and Bobby was abjectly apologizing. Tasha became lucid in an instant. That was the drawback to synthehol – it could leave her stone cold sober from one moment to the next.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I got too excited."

"It's okay." The moment felt completely unreal to her.

"No, it's not. Give me a minute. I can do much better, I swear."

"Don't worry about it. I should get back to my room."

"Please don't go! Just wait . . . look . . . see? Let me try again."

"We have to be back at the ship in, like, two hours. I want to get some sleep."

"Tasha . . ." Bobby cut off further protests with a kiss. It was the best argument. She still felt lonely and needy, and she let him try to sate her. He was right – he could do better, and did. They were sweaty and out of breath afterwards, so much like the end of practice that it felt uncannily familiar.

Tasha dressed rapidly, her back to Bobby. Confusion and regret were flooding through her. He was her teammate, her friend – what had she just done? "I'm going back."

He watched her intently, not moving. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine. Good." She turned around to him. He was searching her eyes with an expression that made her want to run away. "Just fine." She turned to go.

"Tasha."

She turned back, fear mounting in her eyes.

"Don't tell Worf."

She exhaled. "Of course not. I'm not telling anyone."

She slipped out the door and closed it silently behind her.

* * *

><p>The guest lounge was quiet on the trip home. They departed during Earth's wee hours, and most of the cadets were still trying to catch up on sleep, even after they'd left their bunks. Tasha attempted to study, but she felt Bobby's eyes on her, following her like a dog waiting for its master. She felt cold contempt for herself and him. What had she been thinking? Sleeping with a friend with no thought of the consequences . . . it was such a mistake. She felt mightily ashamed.<p>

They finally reached campus in the middle of the night. Tasha avoided Bobby's eyes, said goodbye perfunctorily to Worf and the rest of the team and rushed to her dorm room without waiting. She wanted nothing more than to be alone.


	25. Chapter 25

Practice was canceled the next evening – the coach wanted to give the team a chance to catch up on schoolwork. Worf was taking advantage of the extra time to study in his room, Nikolai quiet and busy at the opposite desk. Worf was inwardly impressed, and hoped his brother had turned over a new leaf.

Nikolai checked the time on his padd and spun his chair around. "Wait – what are you still doing here?"

"No practice today."

"Wouldn't you rather study in the common room, or the study center? For a change of pace?"

Worf was immediately suspicious. "No."

"What about the gym? Have you done your exercises today?"

Worf slapped his padd down on his desk. "Nikolai, why are you trying to get rid of me?"

As if in reply, there was a knock at the door. "Open up, Rozhenko! I'm here to clean you out!"

Worf's bushy eyebrows shot up to the lowest ridges of his forehead.

"I was going to play cards with a friend," Nikolai began.

Now two fists pounded on the door.

"With some friends," he amended.

"It's Monday night. It is time to study," Worf said with severity.

The knocking grew more insistent and was joined by laughter and shouting. Worf stomped to the door and yanked it open. Three freshman cadets in the hall froze at the sight of the infuriated Klingon. "Begone!" he shouted and slammed the door.

Worf stood there for a few moments, remembering his brother's tears, making a valiant effort to cool his anger. He finally faced his brother. "Nikolai, explain to me how this course of action can lead to success."

"Not everything has to be planned out, Worf. I'm smart. I do fine on tests. I don't need to study every minute. I'm trying to have some fun while I'm still young."

"I cannot condone this," Worf said, half to himself. "It must end. It is enough, brother. I must call on our parents for help. I will not stand by and watch while you throw your career away."

"You don't have the right to –"

"I am your brother. We are family. That gives me the right to intervene. You must know that you being here means another equally worthy candidate is not. Somewhere, a young person with fire in the belly to sit where you are and take the opportunity you turn your back on is waiting another year, because of you. This is an honor. And you carry on and play as if it is meaningless. Look at the reputation you have here – you are the one to come to for games, for nonsense. Here is your chance to prove yourself, and you throw it away."

Brother stared at brother, one with his heart burning in his eyes, the other feigning disdain.

"I don't need your lectures."

Worf's look turned from fire to ice. "That is all you have to say? Nikolai, I tell you this because you matter to me. If you did not, I would say nothing." He turned his back and sat down at his desk, his shoulders rigidly square. "I will inform our parents of your difficulties. I have done all I can do."

Nikolai sat stiffly at his desk, and the room fell into total silence.

* * *

><p>Practice the next evening was not going well. Jackson was still recovering in the infirmary, and Warren had been called from the alternates' practice to join the B team. He harbored resentment for the younger students who'd beaten him, and did nothing to hide it. Bobby played as if in a daze. He was distracted and clumsy, a far cry from his usual focus and skill. Tasha missed signals and bumped into her teammates. After an uncoordinated handoff caused the third pileup of the night, the coach blew his whistle and sent them all off to run laps around the gym.<p>

He rubbed his drooping moustache. What had ever possessed him to take a job coaching a co-ed team all those years ago? Year after year, it was the same thing – put a group of lively, fit, post-adolescent athletes together on a daily basis, and eventually nature would take its course. It was inevitable. Drexel was shying away from Kailahni at the home square as if she were a porcelain teacup. And Roberts looked like he couldn't tell which way was up. Instead of running drills at the beginning of each practice, the coach wished he could hand out condoms and mood regulators.

The students rounded the bend and Willoughby called his twitterpated center aside. "Roberts!"

"Yes, sir?" He ran over and tried to catch his breath.

"You're off your game. What the devil is wrong with you?"

"Sorry, sir."

As if Willoughby didn't know. Roberts hadn't taken his eyes off Cadet Yar once since practice began; she might as well have had a bulls-eye painted on her rear. "Something on your mind?"

"No, sir."

"Well, get your head in the game!"

"Will do, Coach." Bobby ran off, speeding to catch up with the team.

Willoughby covered his eyes with one hand. He was getting too old for this.

* * *

><p>When Tasha emerged from the locker room after practice, Bobby was waiting for her. "Are you not talking to me?"<p>

She huffed and flicked an imaginary bit of soap from an ear. "We're talking right now."

Worf came over and waited with his arms folded. Both of them were looking at her with expectation. Tasha looked indecisively from one to the other. "I'll catch up with you in a minute, Worf."

"We must practice the new throws, Cadet Yar."

"We will – I promise. Don't wait dinner – I'll meet you at the gym."

With a nod to both of them, Worf walked away.

Bobby came close to her and said quietly, "Are you mad about what happened?"

"No…"

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not!" Tasha snapped. She looked around and lowered her voice. "Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

"Because it is a big deal!"

"It's not," Tasha said evenly. "It meant nothing."

Bobby reacted as if she'd kicked him in the stomach, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the air rushed out of his lungs. He spun and streaked off for the men's locker room.

Tasha smacked herself on the forehead as hard as she could. Her big, dumb mouth… She went after him and stopped outside the door. She didn't call out for him – she wasn't sure who was still inside – but she waited for him to reappear. And waited. And waited. When it was finally clear that he wasn't coming back out, she walked away, a litany of self-incrimination filling her head.

She ate dinner alone and found Worf at the gym, practicing in front of a mirror. She joined him, but her heart wasn't in it. She kept seeing Bobby's wounded puppy look in her mind, and the threat of tears in his eyes before he ran away. She felt horrible.

"Cadet Yar, your mind is elsewhere," Worf rumbled. She was lying on the mat for at least a minute after he'd thrown her.

She pushed herself up. "I'm sorry, Worf, there's something I have to do. Let's meet at 0700 tomorrow, before class, okay?" She ran out, not waiting for acknowledgement.

The resident assistant on duty at Feynman Hall called over his communicator as Tasha bounced on her heels beside him at the desk. "Cadet Roberts, you have a visitor to sign in."

She waited anxiously to see if Bobby would turn away as soon as he saw her. He didn't, but he didn't say a word as he took the stylus from the RA and signed the padd, or when Tasha followed him to the elevator. She waited until they were in his room to speak, standing on the carpet, facing off like a matador and bull. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean it. It was a terrible thing to say."

"You don't strike me as someone who says things she doesn't mean. I think you just wish you hadn't told me the truth." His eyelids reddened, and he turned his face away.

"Bobby, please listen. I shouldn't have said it meant nothing – that's like saying _you _mean nothing, and that's not true. I just don't want it to mean everything."

He wiped at the tears that were matting his sandy lashes. "I didn't want to believe the things I'd heard about you."

Tasha's eyes flew open wide. "What things?"

"I'm not going to say anything to hurt you. I just know they aren't true. I want to believe they aren't true."

She imagined the worst. "I never meant to hurt you. I'm just . . . I'm still new to this. I don't know how I'm supposed to be." She took a deep breath. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm an orphan." The words started coming out in a rush before she could stop them. "I've been on my own for a long time. You don't know how it feels, to be alone with no ties to anyone, no one to rely on but myself. Sometimes, I feel so … lonely. I just hope we can still be friends." She ran out of steam and her shoulders slumped. "More than anything, I need friends in my life."

"Hey." He was looking at her with compassion now. "Sometimes I get lonely, too, and I have a mom and dad and three brothers. I guess I'm sorry that's all it was."

"I'm not saying that, either, I mean… I like you."

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "But I'm too goofy."

"No, it's not that, it's just–"

"It's okay, you can say it. I come from a big family. I think I act out because I'm always fighting for my share of the attention. Hey…" He held his arms open. "No hard feelings." She went to him and hugged him, and he laid his head on hers. "I like you, too, you know."

"Despite what you've heard?"

"Forget I said anything. People are stupid. They're just jealous. You're beautiful and smart and independent, and they don't know what to do with you."

The compliments were making her feel good. "You should say more nice things about me," she teased.

Bobby continued as if she'd been serious. "You're powerful. And fearless. You're going to make a great officer – it doesn't matter where you come from. And you look like an angel. I could never get tired of looking at your pretty face."

He had started to stroke her back as he murmured in her hair. Desire was rising in her like smoke curling up from a kindling fire. _He's kind, _she thought. She hadn't had nearly enough kindness in her life. She turned her face up to him and he searched her eyes with confusion and hope in his. She leaned up on her toes and kissed him. He responded instantly with a helpless moan, crushing her to him. It felt so good, and he obviously wanted her. It felt good to be wanted, even if she wasn't sure what she wanted herself. Kissing soon led to other things, including her hope that the walls weren't as thin as they were in Cochrane, because there was no mistaking the sound of a headboard slamming against the wall.

He tried to hold her afterwards, but she was once again assailed by the need to run away. She was back in uniform before Bobby had time to find his clothes.

"Wait – I'll walk you out," he said, sitting up in bed.

"No!" Tasha took her boots in hand and backed away to the door. "There's no need. I'll … uh … see you tomorrow." She fled, embarrassed by her lack of willpower.

* * *

><p>She found herself unable to concentrate in class, for going over and over the problem in her mind. When she was alone, it was simple – Roberts was her friend and teammate, and it was best to keep their relationship platonic. When she was with him, she felt the chemistry between them. It was an irresistible temptation.<p>

"Cadet Yar." She'd been caught daydreaming in Physics of Tactics class again. The professor stood beside her desk with one eyebrow raised.

"Professor Von Walter."

"What's the record for the team, cadet?"

"5-0, sir," she answered automatically.

"And the next home game?"

"This weekend."

"Oh, good. Those answers are readily available. Right on the tip of your tongue. May I remind you of something?"

"Yes, sir?"

He fixed her with a sardonic look. "You can't major in parrises squares. If I could draw your attention to the problem on the monitor?"

She cringed as the class laughed.

* * *

><p>The question of what the next practice would bring was answered that afternoon. Jackson was back at last, and Bobby was behaving like his usual self, teasing his teammate about his extended "vacation" with a concussion and a broken ankle. He carried on like normal, teasing Park, and tweaking Drexel and Kailahni when he caught them holding hands. Tasha began to think that the trouble had passed, and they'd gotten the tension out of their systems. Problem solved. She breathed a mental sigh of relief.<p>

She was on the bench taking off her pads when Bobby sat beside her and murmured, "Can I come over tonight?"

"Sure," Tasha answered without thinking. He got up right away and she felt she'd been ambushed. She hadn't had time to think of a reason why he shouldn't.

It was late when she got the call from the front desk to sign in her visitor. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, Bobby pounced on her, dragging her leg around his waist and kissing her with unbridled need. There was something intoxicating about feeling his need for her. The doors opened to a hall she was thankful to see was empty. He hardly waited for them to get inside her room, closing the door by pushing her against it, undressing her as quickly as he could get fastenings undone. It was different from the memories stirred up in her mind – she was in no danger. This wasn't happening because she hadn't hidden well enough, or because she was desperate for food. They were two adults, and she was in control. She wanted him, too, and she would have him.

He was up as soon as it was over, dressing as quickly as he'd undressed. He bent and kissed her nose. "Gotta go. See you tomorrow." He left.

Tasha realized that they'd hardly talked. It was just physical, just an itch that needed scratching. She hugged herself under the blanket. She supposed turnabout was fair play.


	26. Chapter 26

Homecoming hadn't made much of an impression on Tasha the year before, but now that she was a member of one of the Academy's most popular sports teams, she was caught up in the maelstrom of preparations for the annual event. There was going to be a home game and then an exhibition game to determine the Academy Champion, who would be honored during the Homecoming parade. It seemed like a lot of unnecessary fuss to her, but her classmates were all about it.

She was much more concerned about the upcoming home game against Minsk. The rivalry with the Belarusian state university had been raging for decades, fueled by their taunts that Academy training was no match for their superior athletes. Plus, the whole team felt the pressure to extend their winning streak.

The Minsk team was bringing a full complement of fans to cheer them on at the game. The Rozhenkos wrote that they would take the opportunity to visit; the brothers discussed the letter as they walked to class together.

"Their timing wouldn't have anything to do with your last letter, would it, Worf?" Nikolai asked resentfully.

"They are coming to see me play."

"They are coming to spy on me," Nikolai countered.

An acrimonious silence fell between them. Worf broke it first. "I will be happy to see them."

"So will I. I miss them," Nikolai admitted.

"I miss Mother's cooking."

"Me, too. She'll probably bring us food."

They shared a look of truce. Nikolai's suddenly turned to consternation. "Umm…Worf, you go on ahead. I have to make a quick detour."

Worf glared at his brother. "You will be late for class."

"I'll explain later. Must go." Nikolai changed direction.

Ahead of them, Worf watched as a cadet broke away from a small group and began to follow Nikolai. The stranger caught up with the hastily retreating boy and began what looked like an angry confrontation.

Worf ground his teeth. He would be late for class himself if he stopped to get involved. He internally debated for a minute before his familial duty won out. He strode over to the two young men and was soon within earshot.

"-again, I swear I'll make you wish you never laid eyes on her." The newcomer was closing in on his brother with intent. Worf could see from the pips on his collar that the stranger was a senior.

"An innocent conversation! I'm sure it was a misunderstanding." Nikolai gave him an ingratiating smile.

The senior grabbed his uniform front. "You care to say that in front of her?"

"What is the problem, cadet?" Worf asked with authority.

The senior was unfazed by the Klingon's foreboding appearance. "Not your concern, freshie."

"He is my brother. That makes it my concern," Worf replied.

The senior released Nikolai, who looked relieved. "Well, your brother was hitting on my girlfriend last weekend, so I'm instructing him in proper manners."

Nikolai grinned and spread his hands. "I didn't know she was your girlfriend."

"She said she told you."

Nikolai shrugged. "It was a loud party."

Worf growled, making the senior take an instinctive step back. "Apologize," he said curtly.

"But I …"

"APOLOGIZE, NIKOLAI."

Nikolai swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake. It won't happen again."

The senior looked from one to the other, and smiled with satisfaction. "See that it doesn't." He walked off to rejoin his friends.

Nikolai was muttering under his breath, all pretense of appeasement gone. "She wasn't even that cute."

Worf turned his back on his brother and rapidly walked away. "A waste of time," he growled.

"Worf, wait for me!" Nikolai called.

The Klingon only walked faster.

* * *

><p>Worf and Nikolai awaited their parents' arrival at the Academy transport center. Group after group materialized on the platform, the Slavic features and Russian accents giving the boys a dose of home. Finally, their parents materialized in a group of eight and hurried to them with arms outstretched.<p>

"Worf! Niko!" Worf was warmed by the familiar sound of his mother's deep voice. "How we've missed you!"

"Well, well now. Look at those uniforms." Tears filled Sergey's eyes. "My sons, oh, my beautiful boys." He kissed them both soundly on the lips.

"It is good to see you, Mother, Father." Worf pressed their hands in turn and took their bags from them.

"Mamulya." Nikolai embraced his mother and stooped to lay his head on her breast. She patted him and risked a look of concern to Sergey.

"Come, show us your dorm room, boys. Or maybe I will show you; I know the way." Sergey puffed out his chest proudly. "I memorized the campus map at home. I could give you the tour. And Worf," the big bearded man clapped his son on the shoulder. "Your team is in the news. A 5-0 start! Very impressive!"

"Yes, we are so happy to see you play tonight. This team is very tough." Helena followed her husband and son out of the transport center, her arm around Nikolai's waist. "Very strong. Olympic level. But we will be cheering for you."

It was a warm October day with high, translucent streaks of cirrus clouds in the pale blue sky. The grounds were coming into full fall foliage. "What beautiful greens! What sparkling clean water!" Worf tried to hide his embarrassment as his father threw his arms out and boomed his praise. "Just think, a simple chief petty officer with two sons at the Academy – my heart is bursting!"

Nikolai hugged his mother closer to his side. She petted his back, suddenly remembering him as a toddler, clinging to her skirts and hiding behind her legs when company came over. "Is a beautiful campus," she agreed.

"Magnificent! The best!"

Worf ignored the smirks of the cadets they passed.

* * *

><p>Once Sergey had satisfied himself with a close inspection of every cranny of the small dorm rooms, and had coaxed their Tanugan suitemates out of hiding long enough to meet them, he turned serious. "Helena, why don't you show Worf what you brought him. Nikolai, show me the common areas, da?"<p>

"Yes, Papa." They walked out together, Nikolai dreading the talk ahead.

Helena turned to Worf. "Your father wants to be alone with Niko. We were very worried by your last letter, very worried. We came right away."

They sat down on the living room two-seater, Worf moved by the love he saw brimming in his mother's dark eyes. He had not realized until that moment how much he missed her – he'd been too busy with school and practice and worrying about his brother to digest that this was the longest he'd ever been away from her. "I am sorry if I alarmed you. The situation seemed grave to me."

"He's in trouble." Her brimming eyes spilled over. "Oh, Worf, I am so glad you are here for him. With Nikolai, always trouble at school. He is a free spirit."

"Yes, but he must obey honor and duty to be truly free."

She sighed and clasped his hand tightly. They were quiet for a long while before she recalled her parcels. She bustled over to her stack of refrigerated dishes. "Oh! See what I brought for you – there is bregit lung and zlim'kach, and heart of targ, and I even made you a rokeg blood pie."

Worf smiled with genuine pleasure – if anyone else had been there to see him, they would have observed how strange it was to see. But she could always make him smile. "Thank you, Mother. I've missed your cooking."

The outer door opened, and Sergey and Nikolai came in, both with red-rimmed eyes and grave expressions. Sergey offered his hand to his wife. "Let's take that campus tour now, shall we?"

Nikolai was uncharacteristically subdued on their walk. Sergey made up for it with his gregariousness, correctly guessing the names of all the buildings they passed and sharing trivia about their namesakes. As they neared the upperclassmen dorms, Worf espied two of his teammates and shot up his arm in greeting. He took his father's elbow. "Come. I want you to meet someone."

Tasha bit her lip, feeling like she'd been caught red-handed. "Hi, Worf."

"Cadet Yar, Cadet Roberts, my parents, Helena and Sergey Rozhenko."

"Nice to meet you ma'am, sir." Bobby shook their hands, unruffled by Tasha's warning looks.

"Ah, this is the famous Natasha Yar. Worf writes us much about you in his letters," Sergey gushed.

"Father…"

"Would you like to walk with us, Cadet Yar? We were touring the grounds," Helena offered warmly.

"We were just . . . " Bobby stopped himself. "I mean, I was just . . ." He broke off with a sigh. "See you two at the game. Nice meeting you all."

"'Bye." Tasha did her best to cover a pang of regret and set off with the family.

Helena drew near the slim blonde. "Worf tells us you are a very good student, top marks, good athlete, always studying. I think he admires you."

"Mother!" Worf looked pained.

"Oh, I'm nobody's role model, ma'am," Tasha stammered. "I have to work very hard just to keep up. I consider myself lucky to be here."

The silence from Nikolai was growing strained. He kept his eyes conspicuously trained on the ground.

"Luck has nothing to do. Only the most talented, smartest, most ingenious, most promising people are accepted to Starfleet Academy," Sergey asserted. "You must be special, or you would not be here."

"And you, all alone in the world, made it on your own. Worf told us, dear girl. You must be very special." Helena squeezed Tasha's shoulder.

The young woman threw an anguished look back at Worf. He put his hands out apologetically.

"Well, no friend of Worf's is alone if I have anything to say about it," Helena went on in her deep voice. "You are welcome to visit us any time, any time at all."

"That's very kind, ma'am."

"Ah, Zinskaev warp design annex. Named for Russian innovator of 23rd century. Just think, boys, studying beneath the shadow of the greatest scientific minds in the Federation! Is a dream come true!" Sergey shouted.

The three students wore three very different expressions of discomfort.

* * *

><p>The arena was packed for the Minsk vs. Academy game. The crowd was in an uproar before the first buzzer even sounded, with each side heckling the other with chants that had been passed down for decades. By the time the teams lined up to start the game, the atmosphere had already reached a fever pitch.<p>

The Minsk team was made up of three young men and one woman whose physiques seemed too perfectly developed for any normal twenty-year old. The state university they came from was dedicated solely to physical fitness majors, and the students played like professionals. Tasha had a feeling that they never had to study astrophysics or quantum math. Minsk took an early lead, but the Academy fought back hard, working well together and pulling every trick they had to close the gap. Peg was the lynchpin, keeping up the chatter and fueling the energy of her team. She was about to score on the enemy home wicket when the defender reached out and with casual violence, clotheslined her with an illegal block to her neck. Peg went down to the mat with a crash as the refs blew their whistles and the spectators gasped. Her teammates rushed to her side, only to be waved away as the coach and the medic came up the ramp.

"Personal foul – Minsk. Minus four points."

It put them within three points of tying, but that was secondary to their concern for the dazed captain who was still down. The assistant coaches huddled with the B team as Park adjusted her pads in anticipation.

Peg was shaking her head. "No, I'm okay. I can play." She had her helmet off, and the doctor was feeling for blood under her hair. "I'm fine, I tell you."

The doc finally gave her the okay, and she rose to her feet to a roar from the crowd. The two teams took their positions and the warning beeps and buzzer went off, the Academy players looking grimmer than they had before. But the Minsk team had singled Peg out like a pack of wolves separating their prey from the herd. Jackson was hard-pressed to guard her from attacks that were just this side of fair. They reached the halftime break feeling harried, still trailing on the board.

"You sure you're okay?" Coach Willoughby asked as they gathered at the home bench.

"I'm fine. They just rattled me brains is all," Peg replied.

"I knew you were vulnerable to a hard hit," said Park.

"They're big. They look old, like real grownups," Kailahni observed.

"They're serious about winning," added Bobby.

"Well, so are we. We can beat them," Jackson insisted. "We're this close."

Peg seemed not all there, despite her assurances to the contrary. Willoughby watched her with a frown. "Miller, I'm taking you out if you so much as wobble."

"I told you –"

"I'm not losing you for the season over one game. One sign that you've got head trauma, and I'm beaming you straight to the infirmary."

The team shared worried looks. Peg spoke sharply in the uneasy silence. "I'm not bluffing. I can play."

"Fine," Willoughby said grudgingly. "You've got ten more minutes to catch your breath, people."

The second half ramped up in intensity. The crowd was following every play, waving noisemakers and shouting. Tasha was deep in the zone, fighting with her teammates to even the score. She felt the collision coming with an almost prescient awareness – the Minsk forward and guard had corralled Peg and Jackson into the safety barrier on a tight turn, and the enemy center bodychecked Peg from behind, just after she passed the ball to Tasha. Jackson shot out a hand to keep Peg from flying over the top as the opposite team bounced her back to the barrier. The refs blew blasts on their whistles and zoomed over.

"The next personal foul, and someone's getting taken out of the game!"

"We get two fouls each first," the Minsk captain contradicted.

The ref pointed a finger at the defiant center. "You think I don't see what you're doing? This isn't round robin. Keep it clean, or I'm throwing you out!"

Coach Willoughby was on the stage, talking in the earholes of Peg's helmet. "No!" she shouted, "I'm fine!"

But Willoughby was already signaling Asst. Coach Allen, who nodded to Park. She sprang up from the bench and strapped on her helmet.

Peg swore sulfurously under her breath as she marched off the stage with the coach. "They have it out for you," he said warningly. "I'm not going to let them murder you for fun."

Over the loudspeaker, the change was announced. "For Cadet First Class Margaret Miller: Cadet First Class Jeon Yee Park."

"Those jerks won't know what hit them," Park vowed, fixing Jackson and Tasha with her glittering black eyes.

She was normally a heavily offensive player, but she stepped up to the challenge, keeping an eye on the defense and the lines of communication open. "Worf! Incoming!" she yelled, as the ball turned over and the Minsk forward rushed for the home square.

Worf was ready. The Minsk team had gotten over their initial shock at playing against a Klingon, but he thought he could still surprise them. The forward dove to shoot the ball up and Worf stole it out of the air as quick as a hummingbird. No one ever expected a Klingon to be quick and crafty.

Park's aggressive style was hampering the other team from scoring a successful run-up, but the frequent turnovers and races up and down the full length of the stage were wearing on her own team. It was the middle of the fourth quarter, and in a pileup at the home wicket, a slip of Jackson's grip on his ion mallet sent it spinning into the helmet of the Minsk guard.

The whistles blew. "Personal foul – Academy. Minus four points."

"No! It was an accident!" Jackson protested.

The refs, players, and coaches soon got into it, with added vinegar from the crowd.

"It was unintentional! He didn't throw it!" Park was shouting.

"Cut the attitude, or you're out!" the ref shot back.

The fans were on their feet. Worf could see his parents booing with their hands cupped around their mouths.

"The call stands. Minsk has possession. Players hold positions for the buzzer."

The damage was done. Whether it was the feeling of outrage or injustice or the break in their momentum, the cadets struggled to recapture their rhythm. At the final buzzer, Minsk had won by ten points and there was pandemonium on the visitor's side, eerie silence on the home side. The cadets trudged off the stage.

"Alright, there's no reason to hang your heads," Willoughby told the despondent team. "Huddle up for some notes."

* * *

><p>Tasha turned the corner in the women's locker room and sat down on a bench against the innermost back wall. She'd seen Worf's parents rush over to him and had beat it out of there as fast as her tired feet could take her. She didn't want to hear anyone's consoling words. She was angry and disappointed, and she didn't feel like being nice to anyone. She stripped off her sweat-soaked gear and sat in her sports bra and briefs, her head in her hands. She didn't know how long she'd sat like that when a male, Russian-accented voice broke the silence.<p>

"Looking for shoulder to cry on?"

Her head snapped up. It was the Minsk center, their team captain, dressed in civilian clothes: a green low v-neck shirt that exposed a mat of curly blond chest hair, and brown jodhpur-style trousers.

Tasha recovered quickly from her shock. "You can't be in here."

He looked her up and down with an appraising eye. "There's nothing here I haven't seen before."

Tasha set her jaw. She was only peripherally aware of her state of undress. She got slowly to her feet, realizing that she was cornered – the only way out was past him.

"Why so sad? You played very good." The center shrugged. "Just not good enough." He advanced, and Tasha took a glance behind. There was nowhere to go, nothing there but a bank of lockers. "Come out and celebrate with us. Belarusians love a good time."

She squared her shoulders. "You should leave."

"Oh, come on. You're no prude. I can tell by looking. You're very pretty – we could have very good time."

He was still coming closer with exaggerated suavity. Tasha knew she could defend herself if it came to that, but it couldn't come to that – one fight with an opposing player could destroy her eligibility to play for the Academy. "Leave. Now."

"I think you should do as the cadet says."

Tasha was relieved to see four of her teammates round the corner, all in uniform, Peg leading the cavalry. Tasha sidestepped the stranger and stood with them.

"And I suggest you do it now," Bobby finished.

The Minsk center gave the five cadets an audacious smirk. He approached the red wall of them, bobbed a mocking half-bow. "May I?" They broke ranks to let him through. He turned back and kissed his fingers. "See you at the playoffs."

"You arrogant –" Bobby was restrained by Jackson's massive hand. The interloper sauntered away.

Tasha blew out a breath and ran her hands through her damp hair.

"You all right?" Bobby asked her.

"Fine. He didn't touch me. You have good timing – I didn't want it to get ugly."

He pulled her in for a hug, and she hugged him back hard. Peg watched them with eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in scrutiny. Neither seemed concerned by Tasha's near nudity. "Bobby had the eagle eyes. He saw Mr. Creeper heading for the girl's side," she said. "Speaking of which, you boys better piss off. You'll catch hell if you get caught in here."

With a nod of reassurance from Tasha, Bobby let her go and walked out with Jackson.

"We'll wait for you while you get showered and changed," Peg offered.

"I really wanted to be alone," Tasha said wearily.

"C'mon, Yar." Peg took the younger girl's shoulder, Kailahni watching everything silently. "You can't get so down. We're not going to win 'em all."

Tasha sighed heavily. "That doesn't make it hurt any less."


	27. Chapter 27

Breaking their winning streak was an ill portent for the team. They lost the next game, an away match on Rigel II. The team did not partake of the diversions the university town had to offer, but turned in early and left each other to their own morose contemplations. Tasha was lying awake in her hotel room bed, trying to stop the vicious circle of self-blame in her head and go to sleep.

Peg's voice from across the room snapped her inner monologue. "You want to tell me what's going on between you and Bobby?"

Tasha was stunned. She was so sure they'd been discreet. Her first instinct was to answer no, but she searched for a more tactful response.

"Don't sit there trying to come up with a lie. I know something's up."

"We have a student code of honor, Peg. You know I can't lie to you." Tasha felt fully awake, and more than a little put-upon. "Did he tell you?"

"No. But I've known Bobby for almost four years. He's not exactly a subtle person."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Are you dating?"

Tasha shook her head automatically before recollecting that Peg couldn't see her in the dark. "No."

"Then what are you doing? Just toying with him?"

"No! It's not like that . . . it just . . . sort of . . . happened."

"Well, I think it should stop." Peg couldn't see Tasha blinking rapidly. "And don't tell me it's not my affair. It _is_ my affair if it affects the team."

"It doesn't."

"But it will. One of you is going to end up getting hurt, and I have a fair idea who that will be. You can't play games with his heart, Tasha."

"I'm not playing games!"

"Then why aren't you acting like Drexel and Samoa? Everyone knows they're dating."

There was silence from the other bed. Finally, "I can't date him."

"But you'll sleep with him? Not acceptable, Tasha, not with a good bloke like Bobby, and certainly not with one of my best friends. You need to reel him in or cut him loose. I won't have you two mucking about while you're on my team. You deserve more than that, both of you." Peg's voice softened. "I see how you are. I know you feel lonely – we all do. We all have a space inside that wants filling; we all want to soothe the sensation that we're all alone. But sex isn't a substitute for love and attention. You may think a shag will cure that lonely feeling, but trust me, it won't. You have to have real love in your life."

"Peg, what you don't realize is that love can be a luxury you can't afford," Tasha broke in. "Where I'm from, there were no friends. There was no loyalty to anything but staying alive, no doing things for others out of kindness, no charity, and very little love. There was only survival." She shivered from the memories that came to mind. "You don't know what a paradise Earth is unless you've lived in hell."

"I'm sorry, Yar."

"I try to do my best, to do the right thing. It's not my intention to hurt anybody." Tasha lay staring at the patterns in the stucco ceiling. "You may be right. I haven't been thinking clearly about this thing. It's been easy just to let it happen."

"Sometimes, doing the right thing is hard."

"Don't I know it." Tasha searched inside herself – the most she could say about Bobby was that she was ambivalent. She found it comforting to be intimate with him, but the danger of becoming too involved frightened her. She shied away from delving any further into her feelings. "I'll talk to him."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to meddle, but I think it's important. I'm looking out for the both of you."

Tasha took this in. "That's nice of you."

"I like you, Yar. You're a tough one, but you're lovable."

Tasha didn't know what to say to that. She turned over, suddenly exhausted, and tried once more to sleep.

* * *

><p>After the somber flight home, Tasha caught up with Bobby as they left the transporter center. "Hey, Roberts, we need to talk."<p>

He grimaced. "No good can come from that opener."

"I'm serious."

"Sure – do you want to go to my room?"

She hesitated. "No, we probably shouldn't."

He stopped where he was on the quad. "Then I'm at your service."

Tasha looked uneasily at the passersby. "We should probably go somewhere private."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. Tasha sighed. "Fine, your room."

She was tense on the walk over, rehearsing the conversation in her mind. But when they finally reached his familiar quarters, she found herself unable to start.

"You wanted to talk, Tasha. So talk."

"I think we should s…."She felt her courage leave her. "I think we should…"

"See a holo-vid? Sail the seven seas? Sell seashells by the seashore?"

"Stop…whatever this is. I think we should end it."

Bobby sat down on his bed, a line between his brows. "I figured it was something like that. Why?"

Tasha sat beside him, wringing her hands. "It's just not prudent. We're not dating. We never should've begun what can't possibly end well."

"So let's date – what's wrong with dating? I'll take you out to dinner right now."

"I'm not going to date anyone while I'm in school. I'm serious about my work here. I don't have time for distractions."

"Distractions?" Tasha had regretted it the moment she'd said it, doubly so at Bobby's injured expression. "Is that what I am?"

"Please don't misunderstand – if I were someone else, I could handle more, but I'm not. You don't really know me; you don't know how hard it is for me. Counselor Lver says I can't overburden myself, and to take on a relationship would be a burden to me. I like you, Bobby, but not enough to derail my career. I want to be an officer, and that means I have to focus on school."

He tried to think of something silly to say to lighten the moment, but came up empty-handed. "Don't I get a say in it?"

"No. I'm sorry."

Bobby felt his heart constrict. He wondered how he could plead with her without losing all dignity. It seemed impossible. "I'm sorry, too."

They sat there lost in thought. Bobby finally built up the gumption to say what he was thinking. "I'll agree, on one condition."

Tasha let out her breath as if she'd been holding it. "What?"

He looked into her blue eyes, hoping she couldn't hear his heart thumping out of his chest. "One last time."

"What?" She comprehended instantly. "No, we can't. No."

"Please." He took her hand and tried to calm his trembling. "Please. I could let you go if I knew it was the last time. Please."

Tasha took pity on him, and on herself – she was sadder than she'd thought she would be. "All right," she whispered.

He kissed her tenderly, gently, without the urgency that usually colored their encounters. She found herself responding, reluctant to float out of her body and become an observer as she usually did. It was one way of coping with her mixed feelings – she had many bad memories that she wished she could forget, that rose unbidden whenever she tried to create a happy physical experience. The bittersweetness of the moment grounded her, kept her tethered to the present, and allowed her to fully experience what she was feeling. Bobby was valiantly slow and focused on her pleasure. There were searing moments when she forgot to feel sad and experienced only white-hot sensation. He held off consummation for as long as he could – when the moment finally came, they were both shaken by the power of it.

When it was over, Tasha felt overwhelmed with sadness. It was just what she had wanted to avoid – this surfeit of feeling – and she shrank into herself and pulled away.

"Please don't. Let me hold you."

She obeyed Bobby's whispered plea, but in her mind, she was fleeing from the raw pain she'd uncovered. Once again, the moment she felt she could get close to someone coincided with the moment that person would go away.


	28. Chapter 28

Practice that week was a major departure from the norm. The coach was mixing up the whole team and having players change positions in anticipation of the Homecoming exhibition game. He hoped that the shakeup would pull the A team out of their slump.

Tasha was playing forward with two alternates and Jackson as the defender. Worf was playing guard against her team, and he was showing signs of becoming winded by halftime of the coached game.

"You need to build up your stamina. You should come running with me at 0500 tomorrow," Tasha suggested.

He scowled. "I hate running. Only cowards practice running. But it is a necessary evil."

She smiled and looked over at the other stage, where play was still going on. Bobby looked back at her, too long – Park checked him and stole the glowing red ball from his mallet as he went down to the mat.

"Roberts! Stay focused!"

Bobby picked himself up, still staring at Tasha. "Sorry, Coach."

Tasha sighed. Things had grown painfully awkward between them. She regretted everything: getting involved, giving in, and thinking the thoughts that still distracted her.

"Well?" Worf was looking at her expectantly.

She shook her head as if to clear the fog. "I'm sorry – what was that?"

"How about 0600 tomorrow?"

"Can't – I have to study for two midterms, and I have a group session for Transporter Theory then."

Worf growled his displeasure. "0500 then."

"Mhmm." She was lost in thought again, watching the other two teams play.

* * *

><p>Tasha dreaded her counseling session that week. She was sure Jin could pick her thoughts out of the air. The Betazoid counselor addressed her concerns as soon as they sat down. "There's no need to feel defensive, Tasha. I'm here to help you. You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to."<p>

"I wish I could just think my thoughts to you and not talk," Tasha said glumly.

"It does make communication easier." Jin tried to catch the young woman's downcast eyes. "Let's try – can you sense my thoughts?"

Tasha closed her eyes and concentrated. For a few seconds, her overheated brain was calm. She opened her eyes. "Nope."

"I didn't think you would. It's possible for a human to develop a telepathic bond with a Betazoid, but it usually requires a very close relationship."

"What were you thinking?"

"I was telling you not to worry. Everything will be all right, so don't be so hard on yourself."

Tasha wished she could believe the counselor, but it didn't seem possible at that moment.

* * *

><p>Homecoming weekend was suddenly upon them, bringing pomp and display and alumni from all over the galaxy. The celebratory atmosphere was contagious, and a pumped-up home crowd seated up to the rafters helped propel the parrises squares team to a victory. The cadets were hyped for the exhibition game the next afternoon, when they would play each other before an independent panel of judges who would award Academy Champion based on a complicated set of scoring criteria. The seniors were out for each other's blood, while Kailahni seemed indifferent and Tasha and Worf tried to understand the furor. The students were walking together to one of the many informal alumni mixers.<p>

"It's for bragging rights," Drexel explained.

"Something you can say for the rest of your life – I was Academy Champion," Jackson added.

"Yeah – I was Academy Champion," Park goaded him.

"No, I was."

"I will be! Tell him, Bobby!" Park punched him in the arm.

The sandy-haired cadet muttered something incomprehensible.

"What is with you? We won – you should be happy."

Bobby shook Park off and hurried ahead without responding. She threw a questioning look back at her teammates; most of them shrugged back, but Tasha and Peg shared a look of understanding. Park narrowed her eyes and turned away.

Peg walked close to Tasha. "Don't worry. He'll get over it – just give him time."

Tasha turned to Worf. The potential for drama that evening was daunting. "Maybe we should go home. I have to study, anyway."

"Excellent idea." He executed a sharp about-face and headed back to the dorm.

Peg grabbed Tasha's arm. "Wait, I want to talk to you."

The blonde made a helpless sound as she watched Worf walk away, but Peg was holding her firmly.

"Worf!" Jackson called.

"Midterms!" the Klingon called back. They let him go on his way.

The mixer had been organized by the various sports teams to bring graduated former athletes and current students together. The cadets entered one of the halls in the student center, which was decorated with a luau theme for the party. There was a deejay, and Park grabbed Bobby's hand and dragged him in front of the booth, trying to jolly a smile from his dour face.

Peg pulled Tasha to a quiet corner by a table with a grass skirt and tiki torches while the rest of the seniors on the team found former players and greeted them with shouts. "How'd it go?"

Tasha grimaced. "Do we really have to talk about it?"

"Yeah – that's what people do. Talk."

"I don't know – I feel bad. I'm sorry anything ever happened."

"You just have to stay strong. You'll see – it's for the best in the long run."

"I hope you're right."

Peg squeezed Tasha's arm to show her solidarity. An unfamiliar person emerged from the crowd and shouted a greeting to her. Peg waved and went over.

Tasha wasn't alone for long – Park left the dance floor and came over. "What did you do to him?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. I know something's up. What happened? Roberts has been acting like a zombie for the past week. What did you do to him?"

Tasha didn't answer, but stood silently wishing she'd gone with Worf or he'd stayed with her.

"Let me guess – he asked you out and you shot him down. Right?"

Tasha looked at the floor. "Not exactly . . ."

"God, Yar, you're so stupid! I thought they only let smart people into the Academy. Do you think you're too good for him or something?"

"What? No!"

"You know, Bobby may act like an idiot, but he's really smart. Like, he's brilliant in class. And he's funny when he's not trying so hard. And he's nice – what more do you want? He's got a great body, he's cute, I mean, in a goofy way . . ."

As Park prattled on, Tasha suddenly grasped the situation. She didn't consider herself the best judge of personal dynamics, but it was too obvious. "Oh my god, Park – do you _like _him?"

It was the older girl's turn to look away in silence. They were both watching the young man who was at the outer edge of a circle of laughing and shouting students, standing listlessly while the others clowned with paper leis and coconut bras.

"I had no idea," Tasha went on wonderingly. "Does he know?"

"Of course not!" Park snapped.

"Why don't you tell him?"

"You really are dumb." Tasha flushed, but kept her temper in check. "What's the use? In a few months, we'll graduate, and I'll be posted to a starship, and he'll get posted to some godforsaken terraforming outfit, if we're both lucky. Maybe we'll never see each other again."

"But you're both here now."

"Bobby doesn't think of me that way. He treats me like a kid sister. It would just make things uncomfortable if I told him. Besides," Park fixed Tasha with a baleful look. "Anyone can see he's only got eyes for you."

Tasha was floored. She'd never been in such a situation before. "But I can't date him. I'm barely keeping my head above water with everything I have to do."

Bobby was looking over at them, or more specifically, at Tasha, as he'd been wont to do for some time. "Great. So you turned him into a zombie. Nice going," Park said acidly.

Tasha ventured something she'd never said in her life. "I could talk to him for you."

Park spun and grabbed her arms. "Don't you dare! You say one word to him and I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Tasha flung her off. "It was just a suggestion."

Park raised a warning finger and walked away.

Tasha threaded her way through the crowd to the exit. She wished she'd never come in the first place.


	29. Chapter 29

The exhibition game drew another enormous audience. Tasha was eliminated early from the running – she couldn't get into the spirit of competing against her colleagues. Worf seemed to relish it, and she watched as the Klingon meted out skillful punishment on his teammates.

"That's a classic 1-4-2-3 run-up," piped a high voice behind her.

She turned to see a mother and son sitting together courtside. The voice belonged to a boy about eight years old, with dark brown hair and sensitive hazel eyes. The mother was a redhead, her hair a softer hue than Peg's, with strikingly beautiful blue eyes and a kind though serious expression.

"You score a lot of points that way, but it takes precision and dexterity to take the turns that fast," the boy was shouting over the din.

"I didn't know you liked parrises squares," the mother responded.

"It's a great game. It applies molecular chemistry. It's exciting. It's violent. What's not to like?"

Tasha looked back again. For such a little boy, he sounded very mature. He was close to the age at which Ishara was frozen in her mind. But her little sister had never been so articulate.

"You don't want to play, do you, Wesley? You're much too young."

"No, I just like watching. I'll stick to baseball."

Beverly gave her son a sideways hug. "Your father would like that."

* * *

><p>Tasha looked up as Bobby sat down beside her on the bench. She was surprised to see him eliminated so soon. "Hey."<p>

"Hey." He avoided her eyes. It was the most he'd said to her in several days.

She felt nervous sitting next to him and tried to focus on the game, but she could feel his eyes on her. Whenever she looked at him, he looked away.

Finally, she couldn't take any more. "Are you okay?"

He met her eyes at last. "No. I'm miserable." A cheer went up from the crowd at a spectacular volley of passes and scores. The two teammates leaned in close so they could hear each other. "I hate seeing you every day and not being able to touch you."

Tasha had opened the conversation, but now was unable hold up her end. The cheering and happy mood in the room was a stark contrast to the guilt she felt.

"I'm thinking of quitting the team," Bobby went on.

"No! You can't!"

"Sure I can. Coach has four alternates who can take my place." He cracked his knuckles one by one. "I can't take this. I can't concentrate in class, I can't play for crap – two weeks ago I would still be up on that stage playing my heart out. Now, I don't even care."

"Couldn't you find someone else to date, someone who really likes you, and just forget we ever fooled around?"

"Someone else?" Bobby looked at her as if she were crazy. "No, Tasha. I don't want to date someone else. I'm in love with you."

Shock and dismay registered on her face as the crowd erupted again. Bobby signaled the assistant coach. "Coach Kierdon, I don't feel well. Can I go?"

The Zaldon waved him an okay with one webbed hand.

Bobby took off without looking back, leaving Tasha in her troubled state.

* * *

><p>In the end, Peg was crowned the victor. She glowed with pleasure as she changed out of her gear in the locker room. Tasha was already showered and changed. She could hear Park somewhere far off, kicking lockers and swearing.<p>

"Are you coming to the Homecoming dance tonight, Yar?" Peg asked.

Tasha shook her head no.

"Come on, it'll be fun. We're all going together as friends. Well, except the lovebirds."

Kailahni acknowledged Peg's quip with a peace sign.

"I wasn't planning on it," Tasha mumbled.

"College is supposed to be fun. You might serve with some of us at some point. You ought to make an effort to socialize more."

The younger woman looked unconvinced.

"I don't know anyone else who needs a guilt trip to go to a dance. Have some fun. Come with us. That's an order."

Tasha chewed her bottom lip. "Aye, Captain."

* * *

><p>Tasha held up the wall at the dance, noting the distinct lack of fun she was having. She'd tried to convince Worf to join her, but he was intractable. When she saw Roberts come in, she was determined to finish their conversation. She knew she'd earn the rancor of the whole team if she couldn't talk some sense into him.<p>

"Bobby, you can't quit the team." She snagged his hand and led him to a quiet corner. "Not over this. It's not worth it."

He stared, pained, at her hand, and she let him go. "It's no use. This is killing me. I can't bear being around you all the time and trying to pretend I don't feel anything. I do. And it's driving me crazy."

Her shoulders sagged. "What do you want me to do? I don't feel the same way."

He stepped close to her. "I don't believe you." His lips were almost on her ear. "That last time, Tasha . . . I can't stop thinking about it."

"I know. Me, too," she admitted. A confusing mixture of desire and distress was taking hold of her.

"It's torture to think about it. I want you so badly. Feel like I'll die if I can't have you. Don't you feel the least bit sorry for me?"

"Of course I do! I never wanted to hurt you. But I meant what I said – I can't be your girlfriend. It's too much for me."

They were standing so close; she could feel the heat coming off his body. "What about what we had before?" he whispered against her ear.

"I don't think it would be right." Her voice had gone shallow and breathy.

"Says who? We weren't hurting anyone." He risked taking her hips in his hands and pulling her flush against him.

She didn't pull away – she was too far gone to protest. Her breath came out in a shudder. "We'd have to be very, very careful. No one could know. At least two people on the team will have my head if they find out."

"Do you mean it?" A spark lit his green eyes. "I can be vewy, vewy caweful. No one will know. We'll be as silent as the grave."

The hint of his usual, annoying personality alleviated her guilt somewhat. "Yes, I mean it."

He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. "Hot damn. You're saving me, pretty baby."

"Stop it – someone will see us."

He put her down and took her face between his hands, smiling for the first time in a week. "Can I come over later?"

She smiled back and felt her knees go weak. "Yeah."

He brought his forehead to hers. "I can just barely keep from kissing you right now. But only just." He gave her a final squeeze and dashed out to the dance floor, where he quickly found his teammates. She watched as he grabbed Park and spun her around, and then began mockingly imitating her arrhythmic dance moves. Tasha relieved her conscience by telling herself it was worthwhile to make him happy, regardless of her own ambivalent feelings.

Peg made her way over. "See? Bobby is so resilient. I told you he'd get over it in time."

* * *

><p>Much later, Tasha was examining a love bite on her neck in the mirror of her dorm room. "This better be covered by my collar, Roberts, or there'll be hell to pay."<p>

He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "I can give you a matching one on the other side. You can say it was the two-fanged vampire plant of Surata IV."

She squirmed out of his arms and began putting on her uniform. "You're lucky. It just covers it up."

"I don't know why you're putting that on. I'm only going to rip it off you again."

"The material of our uniforms is impervious to – whoop!" she yelped as he yanked her uniform down to her feet and pulled her to the floor with him.

It wasn't love, she knew, but it was fun, and despite what Peg had said, it seemed to fill up the empty, lonely space inside her just fine.


	30. Chapter 30

As the season and the semester went on, Tasha found her workload increasing almost faster than she could manage. She sat before her monitor in transporter theory and applications class, filling in an empty schematic with the proper labels, murmuring their names under her breath as she did. "Pattern buffer…biofilter…"

The professor came around to her desk. "Mr. Yar…"

She broke off her task. "Yes, sir?"

"It's not much of a test if you announce the answers out loud."

"Sorry, sir. Didn't realize I was speaking."

"That's fine." He mimed zipping his lips. "As you were."

She made a conscious effort to be silent as she turned back to her monitor, but felt a glimmer of hope – surely he wouldn't have stopped her unless she was whispering the right answers.

* * *

><p>The students tended to congregate in a lounge when they were flying to away games. Even if they just sat around silently studying, doing it in a large room together was preferable to sitting cooped up in their shared guest quarters. Something about being together made it seem less like they were confined to a flying fortress in space.<p>

The newer ships were designed with comfort, even luxury, in mind, and the lounge the team occupied was outfitted with comfortable banquettes, a long dining table and chairs, a replicator, and environmental controls on a touch panel. Bobby sat next to Peg, watching the blonde head bent over a padd next to the Klingon studying in the same silent posture. He was ostensibly studying, too, but was inwardly too scattered to concentrate. Though he'd accused her of unfairly labeling him as such, he was sure he found Tasha much more of a distraction than she found him. He wanted to blame nerves – as the season advanced, the likelihood of his playing a tournament game became greater as the A-team grew more vulnerable to fatigue and injury. As much as he liked playing for real stakes, he wished no harm to come to the main center.

He looked at the part in the top of her yellow hair. She would probably get a haircut soon – there was almost enough of it to grab. That thought set off a spiral of other thoughts; he could see her very clearly in his mind's eye, underneath him, lips parted, eyes closed, her creamy complexion suffused with rose as he – Bobby stretched and adjusted himself with what he hoped was a discreet motion. It was no use dwelling on that at the moment. There was no privacy onboard the starship – the team shared bunks in the junior crewmember quarters. No VIP accommodations for them, one of the coach's many character-building stipulations. Maybe Drexel and Kailahni could sneak off alone while the others turned a blind eye, but there was no such consideration for him and Tasha. He hadn't even bothered to feel out whom she was concerned about upsetting. He could guess that Peg would think it bad for the team, and she was probably right, if she was the culprit. But it didn't matter. He was not in the pilot's seat when it came to his feelings about Tasha.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been in love before – he had never been through a "yuck, girls" phase. For as long as he could remember, teasing the girl he liked was only one move short of trying to steal a kiss on her cheek. But he had a short attention span: no sooner would he finally land the object of his affection than a new pretty face would draw him away. No harm done – especially in high school, when a couple who'd been together for three months was considered practically married. And at the Academy, students tended to either date casually or look at the very big picture and either swear off dating or get engaged. Starfleet didn't leave much room for in between. And being an athlete and a cadet guaranteed a revolving door of casual relationships to be had.

If there was a revolving door now, he was trapped inside while it whipped him around and around, like the ancient animated programs his parents watched – spinning faster and faster until the likelihood of getting dumped out flat on his face was rather high. Tasha was different. Catching her was like trying to hold a slippery fish in his hands – she might jump back in the water before he could blink. No matter how close he got to her physically, her eyes were always far away: crystal blue gates over some hidden past that she refused to speak of. He knew no more about her than the rest of the team did, save Worf.

Bobby looked at the stern Klingon, who raised his head and narrowed his eyes at the young human as if he could feel his gaze. Bobby gulped and looked away. He never roomed with Worf on team trips. Jackson was used to his volubility, and Worf was partial to Drexel's taciturnity. Drexel was napping upright on a banquette, Kailahni beside him. He generally answered questions in grunts, but when he did speak up, he was articulate and intelligent. He just looked like a meathead.

Bobby's eyes were drawn inexorably back to Tasha. She looked up, briefly met his gaze, and turned back to her work, totally closed off. An observer would see no connection between them. Was it for appearances only, or was she as coldhearted as he'd heard? Everything he knew about her home planet came from political texts and drew comparisons with the worst periods in human history. He'd read about it, but she'd lived it. He didn't pry into her childhood memories for fear she'd turn her back on him and never return. He couldn't give her a reason to run away, not if he wanted to keep his sanity.

In the mandatory survival skills courses, he'd learned how to stave off poisoning without a med kit – you sliced open the wound and sucked out the poison before your bloodstream could carry it to your internal organs and kill you. He felt very much like he'd been bitten, the venom wending its deadly way to his heart. Desire for the beautiful young woman absorbed in her studies was like a poison – he could struggle against it, but he succumbed every time. His thoughts turned to devising a way to get her alone without drawing suspicion, some way, somewhere, an empty room, a hallway, a wall, and ten minutes, fifteen tops, enough time to get her clothes off and –

"I'm going for a walk," Bobby announced abruptly.

"Want company?" Peg asked.

"No! No. I'm just antsy." He fled the guest lounge, hoping the bland interior of the ship's corridors would give his mind and body a chance to cool off.

* * *

><p>Tasha raised her head and craned her neck, massaging out a crick in the back with one hand. Worf paused as well and hesitated briefly before speaking. "My mother enquired what your plans are for fall break."<p>

"I don't know. Nothing. Stay on campus and study, I guess."

He looked uncomfortable, but felt obliged to sally forth. "She would like for you to visit – to come home with Nikolai and me."

Now Tasha looked uncomfortable. "Really? Worf, that's nice of your mom, but . . . I don't know."

He nodded curtly. "I will tell her I asked and you refused."

"No – just let me think about it. It's a very generous offer."

They looked in each other's eyes, both trying foolishly to hide the pleasure they felt at the prospect. Tasha allowed the smallest of smiles to escape and they both went back to their studying.

* * *

><p>The host team handed the cadets another loss, but they were equable about it. They were still top seeded and expected to play in the postseason. So they celebrated despite the loss, hitting a bar at a galactic station that looked like a guide to the species of the alpha quadrant. A table of Klingons occupied the inside back corner, facing out with a view of the whole bar, close to the alarmed emergency exit at the rear. The other patrons gave them a wide berth, understandably so, as the Klingons seemed bent on destroying either the tableware, the furniture, each other, or some combination of the three.<p>

They were engaged in a loud game when the cadets entered. It involved head-butting and verbal baiting, and two of the warriors were enthusiastic participants. When one staggered back dazed and reeling from the final head-butt and the other was hailed as the victor, the roars of the group overpowered every other sound in the smoky room.

The cadets hesitated in the entryway. "Maybe we should go somewhere else," Kailahni said, barely audible in the din.

Two female Klingons caught sight of Worf and flashed feral smiles, first at him, then at each other.

"No way," Peg said firmly. "This is perfect."

She led the way inside and commandeered a table with five chairs. Bobby took hold of a chair at a nearby table and was about to ask if it was free, but balked at the ferocious looks of the Andorians at the table. "Never mind," he mumbled. "I'll stand. I'm young."

"Classy," Park said dryly as she took a stein of dubious cleanliness from the server.

"Lighten up. You want to be a security officer? This kind of place will be your bread and butter," Peg replied.

The Klingon group was watching Worf with serious interest. One of them shouted, "A wolf among sheep!"

"In sheep's clothes," added his companion. The rest burst into jeering laughter.

Tasha turned to Worf with concern in her eyes, but he seemed unmoved. She looked over at Peg. "Maybe we should go."

"We just got our drinks. Relax! Worf can handle himself." The tall redhead rolled her shoulders back. "And we're here to back him up, anyway."

The two Klingon women had not stopped staring at him. "Where is his hair?" one asked loudly.

"Maybe he cut it off, to fit in with the humans," replied the other as loudly.

Worf wore his long hair in a braid as per usual. He repressed the urge to touch it.

"What else has he cut off, do you think, to fit in with the humans?" purred the first, to more jeers.

With a roar, Worf charged up to a nearby table and flipped it out of the way, scattering its occupants. "If you have something to say, say it to my face!"

Tasha moved as if to stand by him as the two women got up with naked hostility, but Peg restrained her with a hand on her shoulder. "Don't. Stay back. If you go near him, they'll think you're staking your claim." Her green eyes locked on Tasha's blue ones. "And then they'll tear you apart."

"Well. All intact then." Drawn up to her full height, the closer Klingon was easily as tall as Peg and only a head shorter than Worf. The second woman was much shorter, with a voluptuous figure barely contained by her uniform.

The taller one picked up her stein and hurled it straight at Worf's head, liquid sloshing over the people under its trajectory. Worf ducked and kicked a chair out of his way, advancing on the Klingon soldiers. "They say a woman born on the homeworld is made of fire and steel, hot and bright." Worf ducked the hurtling stein thrown by the shorter one.

Tasha pushed off Peg's hand. "Shouldn't we help him?"

"I told you, he can take care of himself."

Worf stalked within arm's length of the two women, who bared their jagged teeth and growled at him. "I like this one. Young and feisty," said the smaller one.

The Klingon men stayed back, jostling each other and laughing.

The short woman launched herself at Worf, her growl swelling into a roar. He smacked her aside and raised an arm to block the bowl thrown at him by the tall one. The Klingon men howled with laughter. Both females attacked at once, the little one tearing at Worf's legs while the tall one locked her arms around his shoulders and sank her teeth into his cheek.

"Peg, he's bleeding," Tasha said in an awed voice. She couldn't believe how quickly it was all happening.

The noise from the Klingons was deafening – the men shouting, the women snarling, and Worf yelling what sounded strangely poetic, but Tasha thought her universal translator must be malfunctioning. The squeal of the alarm on the back door pierced through the uproar as the two Klingon women dragged Worf through it. The men went back to shouting at and head-butting each other.

The cadets were floored, along with most of the patrons in the bar. "What the hell just happened?" Jackson asked, his mouth open.

Peg was sporting a self-satisfied smile. "I told you we'd get him some before the year was out."

"Wait – that was a seduction?"

Tasha was just as aghast. "Are you telling me that was Klingon foreplay?"

The redhead shrugged. "That's what they said in our interspecies conflict resolution seminar."

"Huh." Bobby was impressed. "If that was foreplay, I'd hate to see second base."

* * *

><p>The team lounged in Drexel's hotel room, waiting for Worf to return. Most of them were hungry for the play-by-play, but Tasha waited with the intention of protecting her friend. She wanted to make sure his private life stayed private. She was still feeling shaken by the savage display she'd seen hours earlier – if she hadn't seen it for herself, she would never have believed that snarling stranger to be the same person as her closest friend. It drove home the fact that despite their commonalities, Worf was not human, and she mustn't expect him to behave like one.<p>

It was close to midnight, and she was starting to worry. "What if he's hurt?"

"He has his communicator – he would've called," said Peg reassuringly.

"I'd pay him a month's worth of credits to stay out all night," muttered Drexel. "And to get everybody else out of my room." He was sitting up on the bed with his arms around Kailahni. She gave his hands a squeeze.

"We can take a hint." Park smacked Bobby's leg. "Say goodnight."

"I'm worried. I'm going to go look for him," Tasha insisted.

"I'll go with you," Bobby offered.

Tasha was conscious of looks from Peg and Park at this. "I'll be fine."

"Shouldn't go off alone. C'mon." He was already heading for the door.

Tasha looked back once and followed Bobby out. "Let's go back to the bar. Maybe someone will know where the Klingons are staying."

They waited for the elevator and got on. "You know, wherever he is, Worf probably doesn't want to be interrupted," Bobby said.

"Then why did you come with me?"

"I've been waiting all day to get you alone." He leaned in to kiss her, but she pushed him away. The doors opened.

"You have a one-track mind. I'm seriously worried. What if he's hurt? What if they took his combadge?"

"He knows where the rendezvous is tomorrow." Bobby hurried to catch up with Tasha's purposeful stride.

"Are we going to wait 'til tomorrow to make sure he's okay?"

"You worry too much." They were passing a dark alley. "C'mere for a sec." He pulled her between the outer edge of the hotel and a maintenance shed. She didn't resist – it was late and she was tired. When he kissed her this time, she didn't push him away, but her mind was on Worf. What if he'd been set up? What if they tried to kidnap him? There were so many of them – he wouldn't stand a chance alone against those warriors.

Bobby was tugging her uniform open. "Hey, wait," Tasha said softly. "Let's go."

He smiled and kissed her nose, looked into her eyes. "Don't worry! We've got all night." He backed her against the wall. She could feel him excited and eager against her belly, his hands sliding under her tee shirt.

"Hey . . ." She couldn't quite articulate a coherent phrase.

"Please, Tasha." He kissed her again, needy, hungry, easing her uniform down. "There's no one around. I want you."

Her eyes flew open. The hard bricks digging into her back evoked memories that made her go numb. She stopped the southward progression of his hand, twisting his wrist in one of the first locks she'd learned at the Academy.

"Ow!" He was on his knees in an instant. "Damn it, Tasha, a simple 'no' would've sufficed!"

She didn't answer. She realized she was trembling, felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes, and hid her hands behind her back.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm just horny." He fastened her uniform to the neck. "Let's go find Worf, okay?" He pulled one arm out by the elbow, and took her shaking hand in his. "I'm sorry. Forget it, all right?"

She nodded mutely and allowed him to pull her along.

They walked back to the bar in silence. The crowd was getting truly rowdy, and the aliens loitering outside looked none too friendly. "I'm starting to think this was a bad idea," said Bobby.

Tasha pushed heedlessly through the crowd at the door and approached the bartender. "Do you know where the Klingons who were here before are staying?"

He pointed his chin towards the back of the bar. The Klingon warriors were still there, only several hours drunker.

Tasha started to push her way back to them. Bobby blocked her path. "Wait. I get the feeling that this is a really bad idea. They're still here, so that means they haven't thrown Worf down a pit somewhere. Let's go."

"I'm not afraid to talk to them," Tasha replied pugnaciously, pushing him aside.

"But I am." He blocked her again. "Let's call the others and wait for them. I don't think we should –"

"Cadet Yar." Worf appeared behind Bobby, having made his way through the crush of people.

"Worf!" Tasha was relieved, but only for a moment. "What's with your – are you hurt?"

"It is nothing. Let's go." He strode quickly out of the noisy bar.

Even under dim starlight, Tasha could see that he was bleeding freely from several wounds and favoring one leg, though maintaining a fast pace. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. Bobby elbowed Tasha in the ribs. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

Worf was silent for some time longer before answering. "Those women were not of good houses."

"Oh." Tasha's eyes widened. "Oh! So you –"

His harsh look stopped her from continuing. "It's okay. I don't want to hear the details," she wound up.

"Wait – you said women," Bobby interjected. "Plural."

Worf was stoically silent, but the thought stopped Bobby in his tracks. He lost himself in contemplation. He snapped out of it as he realized that Worf and Tasha were outpacing him by several meters. "Hey! I want details!" He ran to catch up with them. "Yes, details!"


	31. Chapter 31

The lounge on the starship back to Earth was the usual scene of napping and studying cadets. Worf had not joined them. The Klingon knew the humans would be irrepressibly curious to hear about his exploits from the previous night, and he thought it best for everyone if he avoided a potential confrontation.

Bobby sat down beside Tasha, bent intently over a padd. "Do you mind telling me what that was last night?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

She briefly considered pretending she didn't know what he was referring to, but gave it up. "Yes, I mind."

He rubbed his healed arm. "I told the doctor I fell on it. She chewed me out for fooling around when I know I'm responsible for staying healthy. I guess she'd just treated Worf."

Her blue eyes were unreadable and unapologetic.

"I don't blame you. It was my fault," he went on. "I just want to know what happened – what made you act that way?"

"We can't talk about this here," Tasha whispered.

Bobby jerked his head. "Let's go for a walk."

She sighed but got up, aware of the watchful eyes of the rest of the team. They walked out into the hall, staying close together to avoid the crewmembers hurrying through. "I don't understand why you couldn't just say something. You didn't have to hurt me. I wasn't trying to hurt you."

Tasha was quiet. Flashbacks were rare for her now, but they were breathtakingly powerful when they did occur. How to tell someone who had never known real fear or want that she had not just been imagining a time of horror at that moment; she'd been reliving it? It was impossible.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. Don't stay mad at me forever."

His wounded puppy look was appealing, sad green eyes above prominent cheekbones, but Tasha still felt numb. She didn't want to explain. It didn't feel safe to.

* * *

><p>The freshmen's first zero-g simulations brought time-honored teasing from the upperclassmen, and the parrises squares team made no exception for the intimidating Klingon as they headed to the locker rooms after practice.<p>

"Don't eat beforehand," Jackson warned, "unless you want your breakfast in your helmet."

"I think dry heaves are worse. You might as well eat," Drexel contradicted.

"Don't worry, Worf. Some people just pass out," Park added with a smirk.

Worf looked uncomfortable. Fainting would not be seemly for a Klingon warrior.

"Ignore them, Worf," Tasha said reassuringly. "I did my first zero-g sim last year, and it was a piece of cake. You'll be fine."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Worf replied, though internally he was feeling much less confident.

* * *

><p>In the end, Tasha agreed to come home with Worf for fall break. She had no real objections, no reasons to stay on campus alone except for shyness. She hoped to be a good houseguest and keep from embarrassing herself. She waited in line with Worf and Nikolai at the transportation center when the first weekend of break arrived.<p>

Nikolai had long before given up trying to flirt with the no-nonsense blonde. He sullenly listened while Worf and Tasha talked over their last game and speculated on which teams they would face in the playoffs. He couldn't help but notice the admiring smiles from the other cadets. He yawned loudly. It was early morning, but he exaggerated his boredom. "Surely there must be other topics of conversation," he said. "There's more to life than that violent game."

"That violent game is only the most popular one on campus," Tasha replied, allowing a hint of arrogance to counteract his huffiness. "Your brother's really good at it."

"Oh, yes. My brother's good at everything."

Tasha shared a look with Worf. She hoped that Nikolai wouldn't act this way for the whole week.

Their turn came, and in seconds the world around them changed to a cold mountain town outside the windows of the cozy room they'd beamed to. Shouts and hugs and kisses greeted them, and Tasha was caught up in the Rozhenko's emotional welcome. The house was warm and smelled of cooking and tea and pine-scented cleaner. Helena and Sergey talked at once, asking questions and giving directions with haphazard excitement. Tasha found it overwhelming, but their effusiveness made her smile. She was getting her first chance to spend time with a real family. The warmth and noise felt strange but good.

Worf was happy to be home and surprised to find that it looked smaller than he remembered. His parents had planned a party for them, and no sooner had he put away his things in his room than the doorbell started ringing and the house filled up with extended family and friends. He was the center of attention in a way he hadn't been in his early boyhood – the guests hung on his every word and asked unending questions about the academy and the team and his life away from home. Worf was unembarrassed, though he noticed that his parents deflected questions away from Nikolai. He could see resentment growing in his brother's eyes as the party went on.

It was after midnight when the last guest finally left, but the cadets were still wide awake. They'd lost half a day in their nine-second trip. Worf and Tasha sat on her bed in the guest room and talked.

"Everyone is so nice, Worf. You're lucky."

"It was not always so. Some humans had difficulty accepting a Klingon in their community."

"Your parents must've worked hard to smooth the way. I really like them."

"They are good people." Worf lapsed into silence, his mind turning to a subject that had occupied him for several days. "Cadet Yar, may I ask you a question on a personal matter?"

"Of course, Worf!"

He got up and closed the bedroom door, and for a moment, Tasha entertained the wildest thoughts about what he was going to say.

"You remember the Klingons we … I … encountered?"

"Yes." Tasha braced herself. She'd given her friend all the time he needed to bring up the unusual night, and had concluded that he would never talk about it. She'd been wrong.

"I thought… I had always planned to wait for the proper time before…"

Worf hesitated, and Tasha gently tried to help him along. "I remember you saying you wanted to wait for marriage."

"Yes. But when the opportunity presented itself, I gave in to temptation." He looked at her soberly. "I fear I have done a dishonorable thing."

"Ohhhh…" Tasha felt out of her depth but was determined to ease her friend's mind. "I don't know anything about Klingon beliefs, but I don't think you did any harm. It's part of life, you know, like eating and sleeping. I don't think you dishonored yourself."

"But I did not love those women. I had no intention of taking the oath with either of them."

Tasha mentally backed away from the image of the two fierce women who had dragged Worf away. "My first time wasn't for love, either. I just wanted to get it over with." She gave him a compassionate look. "How did you feel afterwards?"

He thought it over. "No different than I did before. It was not how I expected to feel. I thought I would be …"

"Changed? I know. Makes you wonder what all the hype is about." Tasha hugged her knees to her chest. "Worf, have you ever been in love?"

"No. Have you?"

"No." She sighed. "Sometimes, I wonder if it will ever happen."

"It must." Worf sounded so emphatically sure; Tasha stared at him. "Love must come to those with fire in the heart."

Tasha sat up straight and blinked. "Why, Worf – you're a romantic! I had no idea."

He only grunted, but a smile threatened to mar his stern expression.

In the hall, Nikolai silently drew back from the door. A closed door always meant something interesting was going on inside, but he'd never expected to hear such a revelation from his perfect brother. "Well, well, well," he chortled to himself as he went back to his room. "Well, well, well, well, well."


	32. Chapter 32

Tasha woke in a strange bed with a strange feeling reverberating through her head. She and Worf had stayed up until the small hours, when they finally decided that, sleepy or not, they would have to try to go to bed. Tasha didn't know how long she'd twisted up her blanket until her confused thoughts became confused dreams. Now she felt as if she had a head cold, foggy and muzzy and not very rested.

She got out of bed and opened the window shades. It was dark out. The hands of the antique clock pointed to nearly half-past four, but was it AM or PM? Tasha shook her head as if to clear the fog.

The Rozhenkos had a standard shower. The hot water felt good, seemed to literally wash away the fatigue. Tasha had replicated clothes to wear the night before. She had no idea what was in fashion for the region; she'd chosen an outfit that seemed typical among the partygoers: a soft, warm, cream colored sweater over loose pleated purple pants with a thick mauve stripe down the outer sides. She borrowed Mrs. Rozhenko's hair dryer but left her cosmetics alone.

Tasha went downstairs, hearing the murmur of voices grow louder as she neared, and realized she'd forgotten her combadge as they revealed themselves to be the Rozhenkos speaking Russian to each other. She ran back up the stairs, barreling full force into Nikolai.

"Ouf! Sorry," she said, dancing by him on the narrow staircase.

"Pleasure's all mine," he smiled.

She stifled an annoyed grunt and ran the rest of the way. She retrieved her communicator and hurried back down. Helena had laid out black bread, olives, and rock salt in a dish, and the smell of strong coffee filled the kitchen. Tasha sat down at the table where the family was helping themselves. "Sorry I slept so late."

"No, no, you youngsters need your rest. It's good to sleep," Helena said.

"Youngsters?" Nikolai smiled broadly at his mother. "You can't say that about Worf. Your boy is officially a man."

Tasha glared at him, daring him to go on. His mother seemed oblivious. "Yes, I know you're all adults now, but you'll always be my boys."

"They're growing up, Helena. We must admit it," said Sergey gently.

"Yes, I think Worf has grown up quite a bit this semester," Nikolai replied, ignoring Tasha's baleful gaze.

"What would you like to do today? A little sightseeing, maybe?" Sergey asked.

"Anything. What is there to do? Can we hike in those mountains?"" Tasha replied.

"Only if you want to freeze to death or be eaten by wolves," Nikolai answered.

"We can take a train to the city," Sergey offered. "See the old sector. The museums will all be closed soon, though."

"So it's afternoon," Tasha said softly.

"Yes. Dear, maybe we should wake Worf."

"I am awake." Worf rounded the corner and sat down with his family. "The time difference…"

"Yes, I know. Shall I get supper?" Helena asked. "I have food for everyone – rabbit stew, heart of targ –"

"Mrs. Rozhenko, is it replicated?" Tasha asked shyly.

"Oh, no, my dear. I like to cook."

The blonde turned a bit pink. "I'm sorry, I … I don't mean to be … but… I don't eat meat."

"You're tenderhearted?" Helena draped an arm around the slim shoulders and gave Tasha a squeeze before moving to the refrigerator. "That's all right. I have lots of food from the garden – potatoes with dill, beet salad, fried eggplant…"

"You grow all of that?"

"The garden is protected from the cold. I built the shelter myself," Sergey said proudly. "We use technology to cheat winter, so Helena won't miss our old farm too much."

"Sergey is a good engineer no matter where he works – on a starship, on Gault, on Earth…" Helena praised.

"Yes, what about engineering, Niko? You must choose a major at some point."

Nikolai frowned. "Not if I don't go back."

"What?" Sergey's kind face was suddenly fierce. "Not go back? Don't make such jokes, my son."

"It's not a joke," Nikolai replied sullenly.

The clatter of dishes and pans was loud in the tense silence. Tasha felt embarrassed to be an observer on a family scene.

"I mean it. I have a disciplinary hearing scheduled the day after we're supposed to go back. I think I should save everyone the trouble and stay here," he went on.

"Here? In my house?" Sergey cried. "No, my son. I will not give you refuge from your responsibilities. You will face whatever consequences you've brought on yourself. What is it this time?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" added Worf.

"Oh, don't play the moral compass with me," Nikolai retorted. "Not when you stop pointing true north. Though I'm sure something was."

"This is not about Worf. It's about you," Sergey said sternly. "I want the whole truth."

Tasha wanted to slide under the table. Helena saw her discomfort and came to her rescue. "Sergey, we have a guest."

He frowned. "I'm sorry. I forget myself." The bearded, burly man rose, and his tall human son followed suit. "Forgive me." With a nod at Tasha and Worf and a worried glance at Helena, they left.

Helena shook her head sadly. "With Nikolai, always trouble."

* * *

><p>Though the Rozhenkos were generous with their hospitality, a current of tension flowed through the rest of the visit. Sightseeing was frosty in more ways than one. Tasha had only lived in California on Earth – the cold was a foreign assailant that froze parts of her that she didn't even know could freeze. Nikolai was withdrawn and rigid, without a single double-entendre to crack his icy mood. He even dropped his attempts to share his brother's personal news with their parents – their concern was all for himself.<p>

Scarcely had the cadets acclimated to being on the other side of the planet then it was time to return to school. Once again, Tasha was drawn into the Rozhenko's emotional farewell.

"You're welcome to visit any time," Helena promised, kissing the young woman on both cheeks. "I'll put some meat on those bones yet."

"Be good." Sergey held Nikolai's broad face in his hands. "For the love of god, please be good."

The cadets took a late shuttle to the town transportation center. They were mostly silent and left each other to their thoughts. Night turned into day when they beamed back to San Francisco, regaining the lost half-day as if by magic without knowing what to do with it.

Nikolai and Worf went back to the freshman dorm. They put away their things and sat in silence until Worf finally broke the ice. "Would you like me to come to the hearing tomorrow?"

Nikolai thought it over. "Only if you promise not to give me that look."

"What look?"

"That extra-judgmental look, like I'm some kind of idiot, when you know very well I'm not."

Worf looked away. "I promise."

Nikolai thought more before going on. "You know, Father said I couldn't come home, even if I did drop out."

"No, I did not know."

"He was so angry. He said this was his dream, and I had to respect that. But it's _his _dream, Worf, not mine. Why do I have to be trapped in his dream?"

Worf was stoic. "I do not feel trapped. It is an honor."

Nikolai sighed. "You just don't understand."

"No." The look on Worf's face was surely the one his brother had been referring to. "I do not."

* * *

><p>Tasha was fighting off sleep with all her strength. Her body was telling her to get into bed while the sun was shining brightly through the window. She'd taken melatonin on the advice of the nurse on duty, but it didn't seem to be helping. She was just changing clothes to go for a run when her communicator chirped. "Roberts to Yar."<p>

She fished the combadge from a pile of clothes. "Yar."

"Are you back?"

"Yes, I'm in my room."

"Can I come over?"

After all, exercise was exercise. "Sure."

Before long, she was signing him in. He swatted her bottom as the elevator doors closed behind them. "Nice shorts."

"Stop that. Somebody might see us."

"You like it a little."

Inside her room, Bobby picked her up off her feet in a hug. "God, I missed you!" He covered her face in loud, sloppy kisses.

Tasha scrunched up her nose. "Cut it out!"

"No." He put her down and set about removing her abbreviated running clothes. "How was Russia?"

"Good. Cold. Worf's parents are nice. How was Connecticut?"

"Good. My baby brother came home. The other two knuckleheads had to work or stay with their girlfriends or some lame excuse." There were no protests now as he punctuated his words with kisses on her bare skin. "We had a ton of food for Thanksgiving. Their loss." He ran his hands through her short hair. "Did you miss me?"

"Sure."

"Liar." He pulled his undershirt over his head. "You didn't even call me once."

"I thought about it a couple of times." She hooked her fingers in his briefs but was halted.

"It's been a week. If you touch me, it's all over."

"Okay…" She lay down in bed and he kneeled beside her. "Anyway, I couldn't call. Worf's brother is nosy."

"I heard he's a downright super spy. He staked out Prof. Dillinger's office and somehow got the codes for his personal credit account, and then he spent a good chunk of it on … how shall I put this… marriage aids, and had them hand delivered during his lecture."

"What? That's what his hearing is for? How did I not know this?"

"I don't know; it's all over campus. The students are calling him Prof. Dildo-er behind his back."

Tasha giggled. "Poor Worf. He'll be so embarrassed."

"Poor Worf? Poor Dillinger. Can you imagine the call? 'I'd like to return this 25-centimeter ultra-lifelike –'"

Tasha was laughing hard now, her belly quivering under Bobby's chin. "Stop!"

"Someone else bought it for me," he went on in a snooty voice. "I mean, I didn't buy it for myself, it was a naughty boy. I mean –" Bobby looked up as Tasha curled up with guffaws. "I like hearing you laugh. You look happy – you're too serious most of the time. I'm glad I make you laugh."

"Oh, yeah?"

He took her legs in his hands. "I like it better when I make you scream."

* * *

><p>It was dark when Tasha awoke with a sharp intake of breath. Bobby had his arms around her, his chest warm against her back, his lips by her ear. "Shhh…"<p>

"What time is it?" she asked groggily.

"About 1915."

She swore softly. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

He cuddled her closer. "You never let me hold you like this."

She squirmed and turned over to face him. "Weren't you bored?"

"No. But I am starving."

She got out of bed and got dressed, Bobby watching her for a moment before following suit. "I'm going to be so messed up in class tomorrow," she grumbled.

"It'll pass." He went to the replicator. "Veal parmesan and fries."

"I have class at eight. I'm going to be wiped out."

"So, go back to sleep at midnight."

"I'm not tired."

"No?" Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Just let me finish dinner, and I'll have a few ideas 'bout what we can do."

Tasha smiled. "Don't tempt me."

He was making short work of his meal. "Why not? You're nice when you try to be nice, you know."

"Hmm."

"Told my baby brother about you. He didn't get it."

Tasha crossed to the replicator. "Grilled cheese on sourdough with tomatoes." She took the materialized plate and sat next to Bobby on the window seat. "What's not to get?"

"Why we're just friends. Why you're not my girlfriend."

"It's not like that."

"I know. I didn't say _I _didn't get it. I couldn't tell my parents – they'd want to meet you or something. But I had to tell someone."

They ate without speaking for a while. Then, "He can keep a secret. That's why I told him. I said I'd kill him if he mentioned a word to the parents or Park."

"Park? Why would he tell her? Does he know her?"

"She came home with me."

Tasha was suddenly unable to swallow, as her food seemed to turn into dust in her mouth. "She did?"

"Yeah, I told you."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. You just don't listen to me."

"You say a lot of silly things."

"Well, yeah, both her parents are in deep space. She's an only child – she's come home with me every Thanksgiving since we were freshmen. My mom practically expects it."

Tasha had completely lost her appetite. She slowly put the plate down. "Oh."

"And she's nice to my brother, if you can believe it. He worships her. He thinks she's this leggy Korean goddess. He follows her around like a lost puppy. But I'm sure he didn't tell her. I told him I'd string him up by his ankles if he did."

Tasha was not so sure, nor was she certain why her stomach had dropped to her feet.

"You don't mind, do you? I mean, you went home with Worf."

"I know, but … Worf is my friend."

"So? Park is my friend."

"Yes, but…" She couldn't go on without betraying her trust. As tenuous as her relationship with Park was, she felt honor-bound to keep her word. "It's fine."

"Of course it's fine." Bobby dusted off his hands and set his empty plate aside. "Speaking of fine, why don't you put on those short-shorts again? And twirl."

Tasha snorted. "You're a pig."

"You like me a little."

She looked in his green eyes, laugh lines in the corners, sandy lashes lowering as he watched her relent. "Maybe a little."


	33. Chapter 33

At the beginning of practice the next day, Tasha watched Roberts and Park more closely than she had before. The two were paired for opening drills, and Bobby teased the scowling girl as usual, but Tasha noticed for the first time how often it took the physical form of poking and punching and tickling. Despite her loud vocal protestations, Park was obviously receptive and played along. They'd spent a whole week together. Who knows how far that might go in deepening a friendship to something more, especially if one of them had romantic interest in the other?

"Earth to Yar…"

Tasha realized that Jackson, her partner for opening drills, was speaking to her. "Sorry…"

"Are you ready? Or are you still on break?"

She smiled sheepishly and powered on her mallet. "Ready."

* * *

><p>Worf had gotten permission to miss practice so that he could attend his brother's disciplinary hearing. Warren was switched over from alternates' practice to play guard on the B team; Kailahni took Worf's position on the A team. It made practice uneven – coupled with it being the first day back after the cadets had spent a week overeating and oversleeping, the change in personnel amplified the ragged rhythm. Coach Willoughby broke off the practice game and put the team through more drills.<p>

Running up and over and down the stage, Tasha felt pressure in her muscles and joints that she knew would turn into soreness by the next day. Combined with her preoccupation and the time lag, she felt clumsy and slow and not at all herself. At a call for a turn, she collided with Jackson. It was like running into a brick wall; she was thrown backwards onto her rear.

He handed her up from the stage. "You okay?"

She nodded, adjusting her chinstrap.

They were off and running again. "Turn! Pass!" The glowing charged balls changed color as they changed mallets. Coach Willoughby watched the team, his frown emphasized by his drooping moustache. He hated fall break. The cadets inevitably came back stupider than they'd left; their concentration shot, the tantalizing taste of home and relaxation a disruption. The two weeks afterwards were always a lame duck period – he practically had to jump up and down to keep anyone's attention. "Top square!" he bellowed.

He saw the disaster coming a split second before it happened. Jackson, inadvertently having sent Yar to the mat once, swerved wide to avoid her. Drexel, paired with Kailahni and careful with her as usual, did the same, and the two large young men, blind to Park's speedy approach on the outside, presented a sudden barrier that she couldn't slow down to avoid. She tried to hurdle past them and instead went straight over the safety barrier, landing flat on the floor two meters below with an ominous crack.

After a second of gasps and inaction, the cadets raced back down the stage. "Don't touch her!" Coach Willoughby yelled as Bobby reached her motionless body.

"Jeon Yee! Jeon Yee!" He looked up with anguish. "She's not breathing."

Willoughby tapped his combadge. "Medical emergency in Athletic Arena A. Lock on to Cadet Park's signal and beam her straight to the trauma ward."

"Acknowledged."

He waved impatiently at the team. "Stand back, all of you!"

The cadets got up from their crouched huddle. Park shimmered out of sight.

"Coach, can we go with her?" Roberts asked. Peg was squeezing his hand and nodding.

"Yes. You can walk there. Practice is cancelled," Willoughby replied.

Peg and Bobby didn't walk – they ran. Jackson looked at the others with chagrin. "I'm going to change first." Drexel joined him, followed silently by Warren.

Kailahni looked at Tasha and shook her head sadly. It was unspoken – they both knew how dangerous the game was. They went out slowly to the locker room, Tasha sorry for any unkind thoughts she'd harbored for Park.

* * *

><p>She waited outside the administrative building for Worf, walking in circles in the grass. She wasn't sure what else to do – she felt too upset to go back to her dorm alone and study. She hadn't been the most pleasant of colleagues that afternoon, and she was running her conversations through her mind, hoping she hadn't been overtly rude.<p>

"Are you trying to kill my grass? It never did anything to you."

Tasha stopped and stared at the old man kneeling in a curve of flowers by the walkway. "Oh, Mr. Boothby, I'm sorry. I'll go sit down."

"On a bench. That's what they're there for." He got up, his knees popping, and joined the young woman on the stone seat. "What's all the pacing for?"

"I'm worried. I have a friend in there whose brother got called on the carpet, and one of my teammates is in the hospital."

"Pretty bad day," he summed up.

"Yes, sir."

"What about you, cadet? How are you doing?"

Tasha searched inside herself and found something she didn't expect. "Would it be strange to say that, even when bad things happen, there's nowhere else I'd rather be?"

Boothby frowned, the lines deepening in his cheeks. "Doesn't sound strange to me. Even when I'm replanting a bed for the third time because some joker keeps digging up my pink begonias, I'm happy with my job."

"Doesn't seem right to be happy when bad things are happening to people I know."

"So, you can only be happy when everyone around you is happy?"

"I'm not saying that," admitted Tasha.

"Seems to me that your own feelings are the only ones you have any say in. If you feel happy, why question it?"

Tasha thought about it. Did she feel happy? She had a true friend in Worf, and had just spent a week in his world with a loving family that had given her a sense of inclusion and serenity that she'd never experienced. And yes, she was doing well in school and was successful on the team. All in all, she was happier than she'd ever been. That in itself seemed to be a warning.

"What if I don't deserve it?" she whispered.

Before Boothby could respond, Worf came through the outer doors. Tasha jumped up from the seat. "Worf!"

Boothby watched the two young people walk away, and then got to his feet, brushing his hands on his apron.

Tasha dropped into step beside the Klingon. "How did it go?"

He let out a long, sibilant sound. "I would rather not discuss it. Why aren't you at practice?"

She shook her head. "There was an accident. Park is in the hospital."

"Is it serious?"

"I don't know. I'd feel like a hypocrite if I went to check on her, though. We haven't had the easiest time getting along."

"Understood." Worf was clearly agitated. He'd gone in hoping to support his brother, but had felt humiliated by Nikolai's lack of remorse and flaunting of decency and respect. He had left before the proceedings had concluded. "What now?"

"I was thinking maybe a Mok'bara session in the gym."

"Excellent idea." It was better than his own idea to find the nearest breakable object and smash it to bits.


	34. Chapter 34

The cadets crowded around Coach Willoughby at the beginning of practice the next day. "They won't tell us anything at the hospital," Peg complained. "You have to fill us in. How is she?"

"They can't tell you anything because Park has a right to privacy, so don't go spilling this to everyone you know." He took in their anxious faces and knew the futility of his statement. "They've mended fractures to her ribs, spine, and pelvis and bruising on her back muscles. But there's swelling in the cranium. They're keeping her in a medically induced coma until it goes down."

The cadets looked at him and each other with shock and sadness. "You all know the dangers of this game," Willoughby went on gruffly. "You all play it like you're out for blood."

"Wasn't even a game – just drills," Jackson said, quiet and low.

"The doctors expect her to make a full recovery, no need for doom and gloom," the coach replied, laying a hand on Jackson's muscular shoulder. "Roberts, I want you to play switch."

"Yes, sir."

"Come on, team. Shake it off. You're in Starfleet – you'll face worse."

* * *

><p>Practice was a sober affair. Afterwards, the team went en masse to the hospital. The nurse on duty limited visitation to two at a time and warned them they'd all have to leave by 2000 hours.<p>

Tasha and Worf went into the low-lit room together. Park looked gentle and fragile despite her wiry muscles, slight in the wide biobed and fitted with sensors.

"Do you think she can hear us?" Tasha whispered.

"I do not know," Worf replied.

Tasha touched the still, slim arm. "Get better, Park." She threw a look at Worf and then leaned in close to add in a whisper, "No hard feelings."

* * *

><p>Peg approached Tasha in the locker room after practice the next day. "Yar, I've a question for you. Will you be my tactical officer for the Kobayashi Maru this Friday?"<p>

Tasha palmed her locker door shut. "The Kobayashi Maru… there's no way they still run that scenario. It must be at least fifty years old."

"More like a hundred. They don't call it that, but it's the same thing – the no-win sim. Everyone on the command track has to go through it. Park was going to be at tac, but she's out of commission."

Tasha was impressed and not a little intimidated. "Why don't you ask Drexel?"

"Because I'm asking you. Drex may be older, but he doesn't speak up and he never questions orders. I want somebody who is not afraid to tell me I'm wrong."

"I'm only a sophomore…"

"You've had three semesters with Mahoney, right? You're practically ready for battle."

Tasha wanted to keep hedging. "Can I think about it?"

Peg put her hands on her hips. "It's a yes or no question."

"Okay…" She thought it over a moment more. "Yes. I'll do it."

"Great!" Peg slapped her on the back. "We're meeting in the sim lab at 2100 for practice, after dinner."

"Who's we?"

"Jackson's my helmsman and Roberts is my science officer. Warren'll be at ops."

"You're going to have a botanist on the bridge?"

"I'm going to have people I can count on. That's what really matters. People I can trust."

Tasha grinned, her dimples springing into view.

* * *

><p>After a week and one missed game that added to the Academy's record of wins, Park was back at practice, watching from the sidelines. Apart from a deepening of the hollows below her eyes, she appeared completely recovered, but the doctor hadn't cleared her to return to playing. She watched her team with a sulky, envious expression.<p>

At a break, Tasha took off her helmet and went over to the bench. She still felt guilty. She hadn't visited the hospital after the first time. She'd thought herself superfluous; one of the seniors was always by Park's side. As a result, she'd seen very little of Roberts. They were a tight-knit group; she hoped they would rally around her like that if she were ever hurt. They would have only a few more weeks in the postseason together next semester, and then they would all graduate and be scattered to the stars in just a few months. She and Park had never been on the right foot together. Tasha wondered if it were a mistake, one that she could still rectify.

"I'm glad you're back," she said, sitting hesitantly beside Park.

The older girl frowned. "I'm not really back. I'm pretty useless."

"No…"

"Congrats on getting Peg through the Kobayashi Maru," she went on flatly. "I heard you were brilliant and innovative in the face of certain defeat."

Tasha compressed her lips. Even compliments sounded sarcastic coming from her. "I did my best to fill your shoes. I don't have your experience and training."

"No, you don't."

Tasha counted backwards from ten.

"Bobby told me all about it," Park continued. "He was there when they woke me up. He's true blue – didn't leave my side till they discharged me. Took absences in all his lectures."

Tasha swallowed hard. "Oh?"

This got a brittle smile. "You didn't know?"

"No, he didn't mention it. I wondered why he missed practice."

"Yeah, I guess he was worried about me." They both looked over at the tall, sandy-haired boy flipping his ion mallet like a baton-twirling majorette. "He acts like a clown but he has the biggest heart. He promised to stay with me when I got scared. He hid out when visiting hours were over and the nurses did room checks. Then he stayed with me all night." Park looked straight into Tasha's eyes. "In my bed."

She felt the blow low in her gut as her mouth went dry. "You… were scared? I've seen you face a team of out-of-control Belarusians without flinching."

"I'm not infallible."

Tasha explored her molars with her tongue. "I thought you said you weren't going to…"

"Act on my feelings? Maybe that was a mistake. I mean, what the hell?" Park hadn't looked away for a second. "It's not like he's dating anyone. Or hanging out with anybody important."

It was pure instinct, a throwback move from the colony; Tasha grabbed a handful of Park's hair and pulled hard.

Park's screech brought the coach running. "Hey!"

His cry didn't stop Park from reciprocating with a stiff-armed shove. Tasha dodged, rolling down to the mat. Park dove at her.

"Hey! Stop! Stop that immediately - that's an order!" The coach pulled Park off, still swinging at the younger woman. "My office. Now!"

* * *

><p>As soon as the door closed, Willoughby started in. "Exactly what was that? Are you Starfleet cadets or are you street brawlers?"<p>

Both young women stared straight ahead.

"I can't hear you…"

"Starfleet cadets, sir," Tasha said crisply.

He eyed one and the other. "You want to explain what happened, Park?"

She pushed her chin up higher. "I slipped, sir."

His jaw worked. "And you, Yar? What do you have to say for yourself? You thought you should put Park right back in the hospital."

"As if," Park snorted.

"Enough! Not another word."

"I made a gross error in judgment, sir," Tasha replied.

"I'll say. I don't know what the issue is between you two, but if I see it surface during practice ever again, you're both going straight to the brig on your way permanently out the door. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"I ought to throw you in the brig right now." He folded his arms. "You're lucky I'm a selfish man. One more game and you've got the whole holiday break to cool off. And you better cool off whatever this is for good."

"Yes, sir," they chorused again.

"Now, shake hands."

Neither young woman moved, and both seemed to be trying to freeze the air with her eyes.

"That was not a suggestion!"

Tasha and Park shook hands, a crushing grip and one up-and-down pump.

"Get out. Practice is over for the both of you."

The two stony-faced cadets walked out and headed silently for the locker room. They changed at opposite ends of the long aisle.

"_That's what I get for trying to be nice," _Tasha thought bitterly. _"Should've known better." _ She didn't want to believe that what Park had said was true. And she wondered why it mattered so much.


	35. Chapter 35

To say that Tasha was upset over her juvenile reaction would be an understatement. She burned up with embarrassment whenever she thought about it. Park had probably been fishing for information, and just like that, Tasha had shown her hand. She knew her jealousy was out of place. If she couldn't commit to Bobby, he had every right to walk away. She knew this in her mind, but her heart ached every time she saw the mental picture of them in bed together, albeit a hospital bed. Bobby was not a stickler for waiting for an appropriate time and place, so it was wholly possible that he'd been indiscreet.

She wanted to get at the truth of the matter, but didn't want to be trapped into admitting that she was jealous. It was a dilemma, and it was gnawing at her emotional health in just the way she'd wanted to avoid. She was at a low point when the call came over her communicator.

"Roberts to Yar."

"What?"

"Do you want to talk to me about what happened? Can I come over?"

_No and no, _she thought. She wished she could confide in Worf, but she'd promised not to. Under the circumstances, to go directly to the source was the best thing to do. "Fine."

"Be there in five. Roberts out."

He looked anxious and wary when he arrived. He didn't try to touch her or make jokes when they got to her room. Tasha feared the worst.

"So, what was that all about? One minute, everything is hunky-dory, the next, you and Park are rolling around on the floor like a couple of fisherman's wives. What happened?"

"Did she tell you?" Tasha asked cautiously.

"No, she wouldn't tell me anything except where I could go."

"Can I ask you a question first?"

"Of course."

Tasha took a deep breath. "Did you really spend the night with her at the hospital?"

"Yeah. Turns out hospitals freak her out. She was nervous about being alone, so I offered to stay with her." It took Bobby a minute of blithe explanation before he caught the warning in Tasha's eyes. "Wait a minute… I didn't spend the night capital letters spend the night with her. I was going to sleep in a chair, but she told me I was being stupid, and I'd have less of a chance of getting caught if I just got under the covers with her." Tasha could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "You're not telling me that _that's _what you were fighting about."

"I haven't said anything."

"Tasha, nothing happened. Park is like the sister I never had. You can't think –"

"She likes you." It was easiest to just blurt it out.

Bobby scoffed. "Park? That's impossible. She doesn't like anybody."

"She told me herself." _And swore me to secrecy,_ she added internally.

"She _likes me_ likes me? Like, likes me?"

Tasha put her head in her hand. "Yes, Bobby."

"So, let me get this straight. You thought I'd slept with her at the hospital. Is that right?"

"It's how she made it sound," Tasha muttered.

Bobby lit up with a grin. "Two girls were fighting over me? That is fantastic!"

"I hate you."

"Two beautiful girls were fighting over me… I mean, empirically beautiful – I've never seen her in that way," he amended at another flash of danger from Tasha's eyes. "It's pretty flattering. Hey . . ." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't look like that. I would never do that to you. I'll give you all the space you need, but I'm not seeing anyone else."

Tasha looked away. "Neither am I."

"Well, good. Now, c'mere." He hugged her hard. "I tell you, I don't know if I'll be able to look her in the eye. I really had no idea."

"No!" Tasha pulled away. "I told her I wouldn't say anything. She'll really hate me if she figures out I told you. You have to play it cool."

"I'll do my best. Now, really, come here. It's been a long time between drinks of water, you know? There's nothing like a week of sitting in the hospital to stoke the ol' libido. Ow!" He rubbed his arm where Tasha had punched him.

* * *

><p>Worf entered the freshman mess after History of the Federation, along with most of the cadets in his class. He got his food and searched for a seat, and found his brother sitting alone at a two top. Worf sat across from him and rattled his padd over the table. "Do you want to see the notes from the lecture you just missed?"<p>

Nikolai slid the padd back. "That class is a waste of time and an insult to my intelligence."

"Some things must simply be endured."

"No. I refuse to waste my time."

"You could consider it a test of character. To call a requirement a waste of –"

"Worf, enough." Nikolai put up a hand. "I hereby absolve you of any and all duty to watch out for me."

"You mock me," Worf said wearily. They'd had so many variations on this conversation; he had no energy to put into the latest refrain.

"I've come to a decision. I hate my classes. I'm doing the bare minimum I need to pass, and that's it. There's no attendance requirement in History, so I see no reason to subject myself to that man's insipid voice for one hour more."

Worf ate in silence for a minute, and then caught his brother's eye. "He does have an annoying voice."

"The constitution of the Federation is blahditty blah blah blaaaaah," Nikolai droned.

"The prime directive is not to be interpreted. It is to be followed. It is not just a guiding principle, but a law." Worf's imitation was less apt, but Nikolai laughed nonetheless.

And then sighed. "I just want to go home. I can't wait to be done with finals. I'm so tired of this place."

* * *

><p>It was the kind of day you hoped would never end. It was sunny, and cool breezes blew in from the bay. Elbows on the ferry railing, spray from the ocean on the cheek, the Golden Gate Bridge and the towers of the city hazy in the heat. And heat from the arms wrapped around from behind, the chest warm against her back, the legs tucked against hers. Naked back, naked legs… on a ferry… a correction of perspective – horizontal, not vertical. And the light was dim, not bright. And the buzzing of the ferry's motor was a snore . . .<p>

Tasha awoke with a jerk followed by a string of expletives. She disentangled herself from Bobby's arms and leapt out of bed. Touching the padd in the desk revealed the worst. She scrambled to gather her clothes and get dressed while he blinked sleepily.

"What'sa matter?"

"We fell asleep. Idiot!" Tasha fished under his bed for her boots. "I missed curfew!"

"Sorry…"

"Don't you set an alarm?" She splashed water on her face at the sink and raked her fingers through her hair.

"Yeah, but my first class isn't 'til 0930."

"Well, mine's at 0800 and I have exactly seven minutes to get there." She sniffed at one armpit and made a face. A few more curses sizzled in the air.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry…"

Tasha threw a withering look back at him and ran out the door.

She made it to hand-to-hand combat with a minute to spare. Worf had saved her a space at the front of the class, and when she arrived, disheveled and panting, he gave her a quizzical look.

"Don't ask," she said.

Worf shrugged. He took a few sniffs and looked at her again, but Prof. Fujihito was beginning class. "Cadets, we will review for next week's comprehensive final. If you have any questions on any of the units, now is the time to ask."

_Here's a question, _Tasha thought. _How am I supposed to make it through exam week when I have more work to do than there are hours in the day?_

* * *

><p>Two days before the last game of the regular season, Tasha was arguing with the head coach after practice. "Please, sir. If I could have one game off, I'd have a chance to finish my work and be ready for the three finals I have on Monday. Otherwise, there's no way I can do it."<p>

"That's not how it works, Yar. You are obligated to play every game unless you're injured. You don't get to pick and choose."

"But Roberts can play my position!"

"And you think he doesn't have finals? The answer is no."

"_Please_ consider it, coach. I'm in over my head. If I could just –"

"Mr. Yar, I would be doing you a major disservice if I let you off the hook. One of the lessons you're here to learn is how to manage stressful situations. Welcome to real life. The answer is no, and that's final." Willoughby walked away before she could protest again.

"Great." Tasha grabbed up her gear and stomped to the exit. "I can kiss sleep goodbye."

"Do you want me to break your legs for you?" Park's saccharine voice was right behind her. "That should take of it."

Tasha knew better than to rise to the bait, but couldn't resist tweaking her back. "Oh, thanks for the offer, but no."

"Anytime." Park jostled her shoulder as she passed.

Tasha just rolled her eyes. The end of the semester couldn't come soon enough.


	36. Chapter 36

By planning her days down to the minute, Tasha could divine a way to surmount the last hurdles facing her. She sat with Bobby in the guest lounge as the starship warped out of the solar system.

"Listen, I can't hang out until after finals next week. I don't have a millisecond to spare. So don't ask, and don't take it personally."

"All right." He put on an exaggerated pout. "I'll miss you."

"You'll live."

"Seriously, thanks for telling me ahead of time, instead of telling me to piss off later."

"You're welcome." She half-smiled. "See, I can be nice."

"I never doubted it for a second."

* * *

><p>Tasha threw each item of gear into the metal locker as hard as she could, hearing a satisfying crash as they clanged off the surface: first, her shoes, then her pads, and lastly, her ion mallet.<p>

"Hey." Peg sat down on the bench beside her. "You'll ruin the calibration."

Tasha was wriggling out of her uniform. She balled it up and threw it into the locker with all the force she could muster, but it didn't make a sound. "Don't care."

"Hey…" Peg put an arm around one sweaty shoulder. "We can't win 'em all."

"It was the last game. I wanted to end the season right."

"We're all too tired to play our best. Limping into the finish line, as it were." Peg squeezed her and bent to unfasten her shoes. "Just wait until the postseason. We'll be unstoppable."

Tasha pulled out a towel. "Right now, all I feel is guilt. Guilty for losing. Guilty for being here instead of back on campus finishing my papers. Guilty for wanting to explode. Guilt, guilt, guilt." She slammed the locker shut with her foot.

"You've got to relax. There's no reason to compound stress by stressing out about being stressed out."

Tasha gave a short laugh and got up. "Well, when you put it that way…." She headed off to the showers.

* * *

><p>Back on campus the next week, Tasha emerged from the simulation center, high on elation. Her feet barely touched the ground. Across the quad, she spotted a tall, dark cadet.<p>

"Worf!" She took off running, welcoming the excuse to burn off some of her pent-up energy.

He waited for her as she hurtled toward him, almost as if she planned to run straight into him. When he realized that was indeed her intention, he neatly sidestepped her.

She laughed breathlessly and wheeled around. "Ha! I wanted to tackle you. I'm done, I'm done!"

"You've completed your final exams?"

"Yes. Yes!" Her head dropped out of sight as she turned a cartwheel.

The corner of Worf's mouth quirked. "I envy you. I still have one exam on the last day."

"Aw, too bad. Can't believe I survived. Even Fujihito's killer final." In a blink, she'd grabbed Worf's arms and was trying to force him down. Two quick countermoves, and she was on her back in the grass, giggling. "Uncle! Uncle!"

He released her, but she didn't rise. She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

"You will stain your uniform, Cadet Yar."

"Who cares?" No inspections 'til next year." She opened one eye a crack. "Did I just channel Nikolai?"

Worf squatted down, frowning. Tasha propped herself up on her elbows. "Sorry… I shouldn't joke about it. How's he doing?"

Worf shook his head. "I've seen very little of my brother this week. He has spent most of his time at the study center."

"Better late than never."

"Perhaps. Have you received your scores yet?"

"Some of them. I passed quantum math – that's the one I was really sweating. You?"

"High marks in all my classes so far."

"Congratulations." Tasha sat up as a thought struck her. "You know, I dealt with a lot of pressure this week, but I made it through. No panic attacks. No nervous breakdown." She looked up at Worf. "I couldn't have said that a year ago. It's kind of a big deal."

"Congratulations."

"No, I'm serious."

"So am I. You should be proud." He took her forearm in his hand and squeezed hard. "I'm proud of you."

She tried to hold back her bashful smile. "Thanks, Worf. That means a lot to me."

* * *

><p>Tasha was walking through the quad aimlessly, a bit dazed, feeling like a balloon floating up to the sky, its string trailing behind. It had been so long since she'd had a moment to think about anything but schoolwork, she wasn't sure what to do with herself.<p>

She tapped her combadge. "Yar to Roberts."

"Well... hello, stranger."

"Where are you?"

"In my room. Why? Are you done?"

"Affirmative, cadet. Can I come over?"

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes."

Tasha giggled. "Yar out."

The cloudy sky and the mist hugging the trees might as well have been bright sunshine, for the lightheartedness she felt. She wanted to skip or turn more cartwheels. She did neither, but jounced along swinging her arms, reveling in the feeling of freedom.

When she reached Feynman Hall, Bobby kept his distance. The lobby was filled with students hauling bags and saying goodbye. He waited until they were in his dorm room with the door locked and a sock tied around the handle outside before planting a kiss on her lips.

"Are you done?" Tasha asked.

"I have a paper due tomorrow, a comparative study of Terran lichen and Andorian sporealgae for introducing microbial fauna to a biosphere."

"Ah."

"Scintillating, I know. It's done – I'm just going to give it one last read-through before I turn it in. What about you? Did you get your scores yet?"

"Most of them. I came out okay."

"Get outta here. You're probably at the top of the standings."

"They're not posted yet – how do you know?"

"You're too competitive not to be." He ran a hand over the shaved hair at the back of her head. "You still mad about the last game?"

"No. Seems like that was ages ago."

"You're telling me." He grazed her earlobe with his fingers and wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her flush to him.

She felt the warm, familiar sensation rise up in her belly, and the chemical energy he drew out of her sparked and fizzed. "When do you go home?"

"That depends." His fingers were traveling over her jaw now.

"On what?"

"On whether or not I can convince you to spend the day with me tomorrow."

He was tracing her lips. She bit the end of his forefinger playfully. "Maybe."

He let her go. "Another ringing vote of confidence from cadet third class Natasha Yar."

"What do you want me to say?"

"How 'bout yes?" He took her chin in hand and moved it up and down like a puppet. "Yesh, Bobby, I'd love to shpend the day in carnal congress with you."

"Stop." She pushed his hand away.

He took a step back. "Or I could turn in my paper and go home tonight. Whatever. At least my mom'll be happy to see me."

Pressure. Pressure of a different type, a push to breach her defenses, to uncover what lay beneath the silence. It was unlike the pressure from her schoolwork, but no less oppressive. Still, she felt too free to let it bother her overmuch. "No, don't leave tonight."

"Then you'll spend the day with me? I was just kidding – we can do stuff. Go into town, see a holo-vid…"

"Oh, I don't know." She took his upper arms in her hands. Like everyone on the team, he was a model of physical fitness at this point. He was lanky, but his arms felt good and hard to the touch. "Your first idea wasn't so bad."

"Not so bad, huh?" He swept his hands down her arms and pinned her wrists behind her back. "We'll see who's bad."

Casually, almost negligently, Tasha flicked her wrist and twisted his arm, bringing him down to his knees. He waved the other in surrender. "Okay, okay, okay, stop!"

She let him go and he gave her a rueful smile. "I wish you'd come home with me. My brothers would have a field day trying to ambush you."

"No can do. Already signed up for a winter internship on the Drake. Besides…" She joined him on the floor, pushing him down on his back. "They train us to handle multiple attackers."

He put his arms around her and drew her down, wedging his legs between hers. "Wish you would."

"What would you tell your parents?"

"The truth – that you're a friend." He rolled them over and half-rose to his knees, balancing her weight in his arms. "You'd love it; we have horses, a huge garden, an orchard, it might snow…"

"Sounds lovely. But I can't."

"Just for Christmas." He kissed one eye closed, the apple of her cheek.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Me too." He held her tightly and kissed her mouth, a consolation. He'd seen enough of her mercurial mood swings to know when to back off. It wasn't often that she seemed happy. Focused, serious, guarded, yes. Often. Carefree – almost never. He wanted to preserve her mood, maybe even lighten it further, and set about doing so using the simplest, most basic of methods.

* * *

><p>"It's dark out."<p>

"Mmmmm." Half asleep, the breathy voice in his ear was as jarring as an alarm.

"Hey, get up. I'm hungry."

A groan as the dream state faded and several sensations converged on the muzzy, sandy-haired head. "I think we overdid it." He realized his arm was asleep, Tasha's head firmly on his shoulder. He pulled it out from under her, wincing as pins and needles shot down the length.

She jabbed a thumb into his ribs. "Up, Roberts. Food."

"Ugh."

"C'mon. We have to get out of this bed."

Bobby stretched and massaged his arm. "But it's such a good little bed."

Tasha tried to untangle herself from the sheets. He watched her long, pale legs kick and scissor. She turned and crawled over him on hands and knees.

"There's a full moon out tonight," he quipped.

She resisted the urge to pinch him and got her feet to the floor. "I want a shower."

"Thought you wanted food."

"Shower, then food."

He pushed the blanket down with one foot. "Shower, huh?"

"Don't get any ideas. Enough is enough. You just said we overdid it."

"There's a perk to having my own private shower. And maybe I'm getting my second wind. Make that third wind. Or is it fourth wind?" He got out of bed, too slowly – Tasha had already ducked into the head and locked the door.

* * *

><p>Spending the day with Bobby was not the tiresome exercise Tasha had feared. In a group, he often clowned and vied for the spotlight; with just the two of them, he was content to be quiet. She hoped it was because he felt at ease, and not because they had nothing to say to each other.<p>

Deep down, she knew that they had little in common. Like most humans, Bobby had lived a life free from want, free from trouble, with a family that loved him. If she had any desire to open up to him, where would she start? They had no common ground, save for the love of a popular sport and membership in Starfleet. And an irresistible attraction that was largely physical. She wasn't sure if that was enough for the basis of a relationship – she had no frame of reference.

They had decided to be tourists for a day. For all the years they'd both lived in the bay area, neither one had taken advantage of the sights people traveled from all over to see. First on the list was a ferry ride to the ancient ruins of Alcatraz. Then renting hoverbikes and zooming up mountain trails to Muir Woods to see trees older and taller than all the towers in the city. He took her hand as they walked through the cool, spicy forest, and she let him. Her reticence felt unnecessary in such a sheltered place.

It was dinnertime when they got back to the ferry building. They ate soup in a sourdough bread bowl and watched people pass by.

"I think we can call this our first official date," Bobby remarked.

"You can."

"So stubborn."

They ate without talking, then, "I wish I could add just a few hours to this day."

Tasha smiled. "I think there are still open seats in Temporal Mechanics next semester."

"You know what would make it perfect?"

"I don't know – it's been a pretty great day."

He locked on to her clear blue eyes. "Tell me something."

"What?"

"Something about yourself. Something I don't know."

She let out a sigh and dug out a soggy hunk of bread with her spoon.

"Why not, Tasha? Don't you trust me?"

Her voice was soft. "Bobby, please don't spoil this."

His green eyes turned serious. "Forget I said anything."

But neither of them could forget, and the mood was perceptibly darkened. The ride back home on the high-speed train was marred by Bobby's attempts to recapture their earlier vibe with silly antics, when even he could feel that he was trying too hard.

In the courtyard of Feynman Hall, Tasha made a conscious effort to let go. She didn't blame him for trying. She knew it wasn't his intention to pry. "Do you want me to come up?"

"Only if you want to."

"I do." She took his hand. "Listen, I'm sorry… I'm sorry I can't give you more. Not to be clichéd, but it's not you. It's me."

He brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles. "I'll take what you can give."


	37. Chapter 37

After sharing cramped junior officer quarters on the USS Drake for six weeks, Tasha found her octagonal studio spacious and peaceful, if Spartan. She wondered if she shouldn't make an effort to decorate – almost nothing distinguished her dorm room from its generic underpinnings. One of her roommates on the winter cruise, a Vulcan science officer, had rearranged any piece of furniture not welded down and covered every available surface with meditation paraphernalia: cloths, candles, paintings… When Tasha and the other roommate protested, the imperturbable woman had replied that as neither of them had brought anything decorative, there was no reason that she should be punished for bringing enough for all three of them. Tasha had had no counterargument ready for that logical statement, and slowly grew accustomed to the room's semidarkness, elevated temperature, and glow from the meditation flames.

But she'd missed the quiet and solitude of her own room. She dismissed the notion of decorating; she had more important concerns: a new semester of classes and the upcoming postseason games foremost among them. She'd had to go on five or six hours of sleep a day to keep up with her workouts, and begged and wheedled her roommates into swapping their most hated duties for precious holodeck time. Grubbing out plasma manifolds was a fair exchange for getting a chance to practice on the holodeck and stay at peak performance.

She tapped her combadge. "Yar to Worf." There was no answer. They weren't required to report to campus for another day – he was probably squeezing the last drops of home cooking and comfort out of his family. She was on the verge of feeling lonely, as much as she'd missed being alone. She considered calling him via his parents' computer.

As if in response to her thoughts, a call came over her communicator. "Roberts to Yar."

"I was starting to think I was the only one on campus."

"Never fear. Bobby is here to rescue you from your long days of staring out the window and pining for my company."

"Window? Cadets don't get windows on starships. We get bunk-beds and inflexible roommates."

"Let's go for a walk – I think it finally stopped raining. Meet me in the quad?"

Not only was it not raining, but the haze had burned off enough for a sliver of sun to peek through the grey blanket in the sky. Tasha was glad that they were meeting outside on neutral ground. She'd had some time over break to think about their relationship and she wasn't proud of herself. She had so far met Bobby's sincerity with nothing but ambiguity. It wasn't really fair. When she saw him across the quad, tall and quick with a bounce in his step and the sun beaming rays out behind him, she wondered why she couldn't open her heart to him. She found him attractive, his personality nonthreatening. Why was it so difficult to let go and try to love him? But the mere thought made her go cold. What was love, anyway – a pretense, a myth, a lie, a puzzle, an excuse, a mystery?

"Hey, beautiful." Bobby crossed the space between them in a few long strides and crushed her in a hug.

Tasha felt shy, and yet his body felt familiar. "Hi." She could see that he wanted to kiss her. She pulled away to make the temptation less intense. They were in uniform, and as deserted as the quad was, she was reluctant to put on a show.

He contented himself with smoothing the bangs off her forehead. "You let your hair get long."

"No time for a haircut." She looked down and away. "Did you see Park over break?"

"She spent Christmas with us before she set off for the Trieste. She took the same internship there that you did on the Drake." At Tasha's sullen look, he went on with a hint of defensiveness, "My family expects her. She's spent the holidays with us every year."

"I didn't say anything. It's fine."

Her clipped tone said otherwise. Bobby changed the subject. "Did you get my letters?"

Tasha grimaced. "Yeah, almost every day."

"Too much?"

"It was a little embarrassing. I had zero privacy. My roommates got an earful of some pretty personal stuff before I stopped playback."

"So you said. I sent text after that, just like you ordered."

"I still can't believe what you put in writing. You have a very dirty mind."

"I was trying to shock you into writing me back."

"I'm not easily shocked."

"Two letters, Tasha. I wrote you nearly every day."

"Because you were bored! I was busy. The captain and the first officer were totally old school. They had me doing every menial, back-breaking task they could come up with. The CO is an old, bitter man. The crew says he's not going to retire – he's going to go up in a puff of sulfur and brimstone."

Bobby was not fooled by her attempt at misdirection. "You could have sent me a real letter."

"I shared the camera with two higher-ranked women. I never had a chance."

"I missed seeing you and hearing your voice." Her look of discomfort brought him to the reason he'd wanted to meet on neutral ground. In truth, he'd nearly forgotten how beautiful she was, how distant her eyes. "Since you didn't write to me, I tried to find other ways to remind myself of you."

"I did write. Twice."

He forged on before he could lose his nerve. "I did some research into the colony where you grew up."

They had been walking idly down the paths lined with purple cabbage and winter rosebushes. Now Tasha stopped and turned to face him, the barrage of emotions rendering her mute.

"There's not a great deal out there, but I read what I could."

She still didn't answer. Her eyes clouded over. He felt his face get hot as he went on. "I had to do something, Tasha. You won't tell me anything, and I only know what they told us in history class." His face softened. "I never imagined any modern human went through anything like that, especially the children and the women."

She thrust out her jaw. "And what do you think of me now? Are you sorry for me?"

He didn't flinch under the accusatory tone. "I think it's incredible that you survived a life like that and made it here. I know you're strong, but you must be much, much stronger than I realize."

She searched his bright green eyes for a mote of insincerity. She couldn't find one, but she felt unable to give in to what she did see there.

Bobby continued, somewhat deflated. "I won't pretend to understand, but at least I can say I have an inkling of what you went through before you were rescued. I'm surprised you ever let me touch you."

"How do you know I was rescued?"

"What else would you call it?"

She picked at her cuticles. "I let you touch me because I'm human. When people used money, it didn't matter that it wasn't a fair or good system, or that some people made out like bandits while other people got hurt; they still needed it."

"What does money have to do with sex?"

Tasha started to walk down the path and Bobby followed. "Let's drop it, okay? I don't want to talk about life on the colony. Not now, not ever."

"Okay. I'm sorry I brought it up."

They walked on in silence. The blanket of clouds muffled the sun once more, and the deepening grey told of the threatening rain.

* * *

><p>Tasha didn't see Worf until the first advanced hand-to-hand combat class. They both arrived fifteen minutes early, and she ran to him and pounded his back when she saw him down the hall. "Hey! I tried calling you…"<p>

"I just beamed in this morning. Though it feels like evening. I was excused from the first formation."

"Why did you stay away so long?"

He frowned. "All was not well at home. Nikolai and my father had many disputes."

"Oh, oh no. How terrible."

"Yes. My mother had a hard time. It pains her to see fighting at home."

"Did he come back?"

"Yes. That's why they were fighting – Nikolai did not wish to return. In the end, my father was the victor."

Tasha sat down on the mat at the front of the classroom and started stretching. "Sounds like your break wasn't much fun."

"No." He lowered a glare on her. "But humans place too much importance on fun."

* * *

><p>Tasha approached practice that afternoon with trepidation. Would everyone know why she and Park had fought at the end of the semester? Would they have chosen sides? But Peg's hearty "hullo!" and Jackson's merry-go-round hug put that notion to rest. Kailahni and Drexel shook hands all around. Tasha thought it no coincidence that Park was in conference with the head coach while everyone else noisily reunited. Tasha wanted to raise a flag of truce and cautiously approached her. Coach Willoughby walked away as the two young women eyed each other. Park had a perfectly cut bob that ended precisely above her ears in two points that swept her cheeks. She looked gamine and sophisticated. Tasha self-consciously blew her shaggy bangs out of her eyes and made a mental note to see the barber the next day.<p>

"Welcome back," Tasha said.

"Same to you. How was the Drake?"

"A lot of work, but good. They let me have an alpha shift a couple of times. How was the Trieste?"

"Good. I got to take a station on the bridge once. But there was one weird thing…"

"What?"

"One of the bridge officers wasn't… a real person. It was a machine."

This jogged a memory – something Tasha had read the year before. "Was it Lt. Data?"

"Yeah, that was its name. Very odd. I thought it… he belonged to the ship, but it's an automaton."

"I think he's a hero. I read that he was commended for bravery."

"Hmm. He was weird. The rest of the crew gave him a wide berth, and I followed their lead."

Tasha frowned. "That's not very open-minded."

Park put her hands on her hips. "Are you judging me? Sounds pretty narrow-minded to me."

Tasha sighed, "Forget it," and walked away.

* * *

><p>After practice, the team went to dinner as a group.<p>

"We finally get to play for an audience. It's about time," said Park.

Drexel nodded, walking alongside Kailahni and swinging her hand.

"How come it works that way in the postseason?" Tasha asked.

"Because some of the quarterfinalists' second teams are better than the first teams we played in the regular season," Peg answered.

"And it's more parrises squares for the crowd. They just can't get enough," added Jackson.

Worf walked along in silence, somewhat apart. Time lag and family worries were combining into a deeply unsettled feeling. Tasha threw glances his way, but didn't say anything. She knew her Klingon friend would talk if and when he felt like it.

In line at the mess hall, Park pinched Bobby's waist. "Are you getting a salad, Roberts? Looks to me like you spent the break eating cookies and lying on the couch."

"So what if I did? Maybe a few more of Mom's chocolate macaroons would've fattened up those cheeks." He gave her cheek a pinch.

"Ow!" She tried to reciprocate, but there was no excess on his bony face. She settled for pinching his neck.

"Hey!" He grabbed her with one arm and started pinching her down her sleeve, jostling Jackson, just ahead of him. She squirmed and laughed, batting his hand away. They carried on until Bobby caught the serious look in Tasha's eyes, watching them and scratching at the corner of her lip with one short fingernail. He abruptly let Park go, flushing deep red.

"Behave, children," Jackson drawled with a roll of his eyes.

Tasha met Park's eyes and saw the frank challenge within.

* * *

><p>"If they would just post the bracket already," Peg was saying, finishing the last bites of her meal. "I could see who Minsk faces first. It could be to our advantage if it's a tough team."<p>

"What if it's us?" Drexel asked.

"Let's hope not."

"I don't care," retorted Jackson. "I want revenge."

"Then you better bring it in practice. They're going to be a bitch to beat."

Worf sat with his head down and feet splayed out, his dinner half-finished in front of him.

"Worf, what do you think? You haven't said two words together," said Tasha.

He didn't answer or move.

"Worf?" Tasha poked one folded arm.

As if she'd flipped a switch, he began to snore. Loudly.

It sent the table into guffaws. "He must've been up for more than a day straight," Tasha got out. "C'mon, big guy. Let's get you into bed."

As they all rose from their seats and tried to wake him, Bobby tugged Tasha's arm and whispered in her ear, "Let someone else take him home. I want you to come home with me."

She hesitated, but as Drexel and Jackson supported the drowsy Klingon between them, she nodded agreement.

They split up at the door, the three young men dragging off to the freshman dorm with Kailahni trailing behind, Peg to the study center, and Park, Bobby and Tasha towards the upperclassman halls. Park kept up steady chatter about her postseason lineup speculations. When they reached the path that diverged to Cochrane Hall, she asked, "Are you going to do the chivalrous thing and walk us home?"

Bobby's voice was firm but kind. "Jeon Yee, Tasha and I are going to hang out for a while longer. Alone."

A look of pain passed swiftly over her face. "'Kay. G'night." She wheeled and walked briskly away.

Bobby and Tasha shared a look. "Was that harsh?" he asked.

She shook her head no.

They walked down the path to Feynman Hall. "I didn't really see what you were telling me about over break. Park has been like a sister to me from the start, and I rag on her and give her a hard time, same as I do my brothers. But when you're around, it's different. I can feel… her competitiveness. But I don't want to hurt her. We've been friends for four years – that's a long time. She knows me pretty well. She knows I love attention, and she gives me what I want. I eat it up – I admit it. But it doesn't mean we'll ever be more than friends."

Tasha sighed. "I don't know what to say. I've tried to be her friend."

"I know you have. It's very big of you."

"I'm not so sure that it is. It could be selfish – I don't deal well with rejection."

He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Are you saying I'd have a better chance with you if I pushed you away?"

She shrugged. "Someone's gotta do the chasing."

He laughed and walked on. "At least you admit that you run away."

"Haven't you noticed? I'm a very good runner."


End file.
